tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7230718162850533082024-03-13T01:51:06.423-04:00Peaches and Plumswinenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-34297298823671676872014-12-30T08:28:00.003-05:002014-12-30T13:49:22.768-05:00Realistic Resolutions for 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZgikdBmXQqrxllNyeWrYPU5vjvAQ6-peHDvFDud1BCVmj-DOf2UlD6SvC9ZKB4vsCeFHLWzViapzMttLs64RJ3rarFNw9AHJMn6jnkG-V5OO798dPxjXsX_TFTol_9ONW1rXn4Lfg4o/s1600/me+b:w+glass.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZgikdBmXQqrxllNyeWrYPU5vjvAQ6-peHDvFDud1BCVmj-DOf2UlD6SvC9ZKB4vsCeFHLWzViapzMttLs64RJ3rarFNw9AHJMn6jnkG-V5OO798dPxjXsX_TFTol_9ONW1rXn4Lfg4o/s1600/me+b:w+glass.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Seeing as it's taken me over 6 months to find the time and energy to write in my personal blog again, I thought this would be an excellent opportunity to assess my goals. Sure, this time of year always makes me ruminate over the big stuff - job, love life, location, fitness, friendships, that monstrously hideous TV shelf I keep vowing to get rid of, etc.<br />
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However, this time of year is also about fixing the little things. Therefore, a list of do-able expectations is in order:<br />
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1. Put away the menorah<br />
2. If feeling especially ambitious, scrape away the melted wax first<br />
3. Make fresh ice cubes on a regular basis<br />
4. Use the word "acidulous" more often<br />
5. Stop saying "nice" so often<br />
6. Actually, stop being quite so nice, I mean, gracious when it isn't deserved or appreciated<br />
7. Get a new keychain<br />
8. Read things I bother to write down in my notes and follow up on them. Same with Shazammed songs<br />
9. Buy a new sports bra<br />
10. Remember that wine from 2004 isn't going to drink itself<br />
11. Also, finish that last inch of rum left in the bottle<br />
12. Don't sigh and roll eyes every time someone asks how I'm doing<br />
13. Listen to the music mixes my friend Phil shared with me<br />
14. Replace watch battery<br />
15. Straighten the living room rug<br />
16. Try that new sandwich place<br />
17. Replace old mustard<br />
18. Pet more dogs<br />
19. Learn how to pose for pictures without making fish lips<br />
20. Carve a pineapple<br />
21. Get out and see more sunsets<br />
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Cheers to a way better 2015 for one and all!<br />
<br />winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-90120775628339481572014-06-25T20:03:00.001-04:002014-06-26T18:10:05.900-04:00Cheers to Bruce! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjLm_-BfK05ZNJvYU7uf54WNUay2dU1KjmyOJ4RKo_ni-ppcE_VUBb1PaWMQGWWngqPHZt104zD9TUKhXFigeWb3Th-7QfeDy2_xijHpjjjUd9RcCaExhU_YHHgKIQrAm_rSqM2BYBDxs/s1600/brucewildturkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjLm_-BfK05ZNJvYU7uf54WNUay2dU1KjmyOJ4RKo_ni-ppcE_VUBb1PaWMQGWWngqPHZt104zD9TUKhXFigeWb3Th-7QfeDy2_xijHpjjjUd9RcCaExhU_YHHgKIQrAm_rSqM2BYBDxs/s1600/brucewildturkey.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last Sunday, I lost the great love of my life. </span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-9d68abdf-d552-d978-5a59-b6ff3d28cf67" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was a complicated soul - shamelessly affectionate at times, willful and temperamental at others, clever, shockingly agile, obsessive and loyal. He also possessed a sharp sense of humor. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I get it. Everyone thinks their cat is special. But Bruce really was. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinffapXyTbZP9GSpmpXLKKsZHc7N5MP1mqvw_QNsRYTt9Dq09dZEvmmzBclwFv1hdJZQ-Z2ksak6w4vgzUE-hlEWs_3tTht61HHI1v6TQgJhAo6E71KsJsgYAb-3vF95b0imJ833qU0Y4/s1600/bruceshelf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinffapXyTbZP9GSpmpXLKKsZHc7N5MP1mqvw_QNsRYTt9Dq09dZEvmmzBclwFv1hdJZQ-Z2ksak6w4vgzUE-hlEWs_3tTht61HHI1v6TQgJhAo6E71KsJsgYAb-3vF95b0imJ833qU0Y4/s1600/bruceshelf.jpg" height="259" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I found him, or perhaps it’s more apt to say he found me, on a chilly night in March, 2001, moments after my husband and I decided to call it quits on a 10 year relationship following a disastrous dinner out with friends. (It’s not that the straw finally broke, it shattered and then choked on its own vomit.) Walking on First Avenue in a daze toward the F train, I spotted this little tabby crouched on the sidewalk of First St. I’m not a Seinfeld fan, but no one can argue that First and First is indeed the </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6yDb0cYcZ18" style="line-height: 1.15; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nexus of the Universe</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. He immediately came up to me and started doing little figure eights against my legs, finally settling on one of my feet, purring away, fixing to take a nap! Just then a woman approached and asked me if I was going to rescue this cat. She lived around the corner and could lend a carrier for the night. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj0v9vF25Dcq_x-ct8OLRiKr0T9km_pAIWQp_NAcfiTvqcpm9IQHOTg87rfRpDJNB_t9JGEfDlECXsAlMwWMw4npCrAHg08gJ4nLIHmTbmIN6RWp5i04088WguAmWfAHQcdDeWl7f6dfE/s1600/brucesink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj0v9vF25Dcq_x-ct8OLRiKr0T9km_pAIWQp_NAcfiTvqcpm9IQHOTg87rfRpDJNB_t9JGEfDlECXsAlMwWMw4npCrAHg08gJ4nLIHmTbmIN6RWp5i04088WguAmWfAHQcdDeWl7f6dfE/s1600/brucesink.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked down at him nestling against my legs, such a strange act of familiarity considering we hadn’t even been formally introduced. I sighed. “Yeah, I guess I am,” I replied. I took him back to Brooklyn, returned the carrier the next day and put up “HAVE YOU LOST ME?” posters. No one claimed him. Guess I owned a cat now. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Allan and I managed to live together another two weeks after that. Mostly out of habit. He was actually the one who named the cat “Bruce” because he had this way of pouncing out of nowhere, tapping our ankles and disappearing under or behind something. Kung Fu kitty. Bruce Lee. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ciaioCo1aarSY0PzDKOW8RYZcOdtDT2KWpK-tmuk_iXOnBXg2k3wQDA8EKNJ7vBqFf_ee_WF-ZqqbNpvTZQZCavaCeiQY4JAdGQtuDeDHoyfEZ3bx3AQAPVLz5XSzCtO1NUbN20GFYA/s1600/brucewindow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ciaioCo1aarSY0PzDKOW8RYZcOdtDT2KWpK-tmuk_iXOnBXg2k3wQDA8EKNJ7vBqFf_ee_WF-ZqqbNpvTZQZCavaCeiQY4JAdGQtuDeDHoyfEZ3bx3AQAPVLz5XSzCtO1NUbN20GFYA/s1600/brucewindow.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If I had one wish in life it would be to have one conversation with Bruce to find out what he was doing out on the street that night. He was already house trained and neutered, but also had that badass East Village feral edge to him. He liked meat, and would fight us for every scrap on our plates, jumping back on the table the second we attempted removal. If we gave in and set something down on the floor, he would hide, stalk and attack the dish before allowing himself to chow down. (He did this for months until, I guess, becoming too lazy to “hunt” before the reward.) His markings, such as a leopard-spotted tummy, ringed tail and bushy ears indicated he might have some wild cat in him. No one could guess his age for certain - he could have been anywhere from 6 months old to a year. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He lived in a nearby bodega and escaped. They weren’t looking for him. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wandered out of someone’s apartment window onto a fire escape, climbed down and got lost. They didn’t see my poster. Or maybe they thought, “He’s all yours, honey!”</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He is the bastard lovechild of a manx or lynx from the Bronx zoo, who was impregnated by a domestic cat that wandered into the enclosure, and was eventually turned out once weaned. </span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His avid curiosity landed him on a plane from Sub Saharan Africa and after escaping authorities at JFK, found himself, like many adventurers, wandering the streets of New York City. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQGNKciQXNYGlr7xrFuMSSTjp7qnO5P8au2OJpow4WyLZjf4IkbIoNueYJIHNWxZC5WUtLqYMetlwVTTfpshQ_VsELQlJ7BrBZpn1-cGRhWE9YSxKLgca9vMORjNkOoHFkuaerAPrUdC0/s1600/Bruce+paw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQGNKciQXNYGlr7xrFuMSSTjp7qnO5P8au2OJpow4WyLZjf4IkbIoNueYJIHNWxZC5WUtLqYMetlwVTTfpshQ_VsELQlJ7BrBZpn1-cGRhWE9YSxKLgca9vMORjNkOoHFkuaerAPrUdC0/s1600/Bruce+paw.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hide and Seek Fail</td></tr>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bruce and I soon moved to the wilds of Connecticut where I exiled myself to make an attempt at a new life and career as a jewelry designer. Which meant, at the age of 30, moving back in with my very generous parents, who lived in Manhattan during the week to work. I could use that apartment on weekends. Half of their garage became a metalsmithing studio, where I worked with the door open for ventilation. Bruce loved being in the country, swatting at butterflies, climbing trees, taking naps in the bushes. He would often show up with a half dead chipmunk, his favorite prey, and drop it at my feet while I worked, looking up at me presumably to see if I’d like to finish the job or perhaps prepare him some Chipmunk Tetrazzini. Lovely. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The house had textured wallpaper that covered a large part of the upstairs foyer and hallway. Bruce liked the way it felt in his claws and had taken to climbing it. If you glanced down the hallway, you would often see his tail disappearing behind the wall above the entryway as he scampered all the way up. It was not uncommon to hear blood curdling screams from upstairs after a sudden, unexpected dismount. My parents’ affection for Bruce seemed to far surpass their consternation at the damage he was causing to the decor. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfIn_cGsd3BWAyDYI5OhlFjctytlYYQEX1x4t3PVj3jjP9Z6xgZzTRluzYrs8Br9L2HfYHS91KftqwsMkOgLm6L4qJsguMqlrPPh5jDhEEWI4OYrWreHpn2wwmK_xQfPxhiMQiWP7f3I/s1600/brucebag.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfIn_cGsd3BWAyDYI5OhlFjctytlYYQEX1x4t3PVj3jjP9Z6xgZzTRluzYrs8Br9L2HfYHS91KftqwsMkOgLm6L4qJsguMqlrPPh5jDhEEWI4OYrWreHpn2wwmK_xQfPxhiMQiWP7f3I/s1600/brucebag.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moving Day Silliness </td></tr>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After two years, a shredded hallway and severe “editing” of the fabric-covered dining room chairs, we moved back to Brooklyn, at first to Fort Greene, where I had room for a jewelry studio. I was afraid of yanking this dear beast out of his element, but he surprised me with a relatively easy adjustment to indoor apartment living. The strange thing was, this was when he began to grow! For the previous two years, he remained sleek and tiny, all of maybe eight pounds. Suddenly, in what seemed like just a matter of weeks, not only did he fill out, his whole body expanded from head to tail! It was as though the Brooklyn water made his whole metabolic structure react. “Fuhgeddaboudit!” it seemed to say. Within a few months he easily weighed 15 pounds. At one point he weighed between 25 and 30 pounds, but he didn’t seem fat, exactly. Big boned. Stocky. A real bruiser. He had a habit of lying on my chest when I would read before bedtime. There were moments I did struggle for breath. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv4QTP0M8BBPawqRSUln37wcqGfIPI-5YgOwaCCABeMPxfDXQlaRhuGD58elDh3i2UrKv3vXDfZ7O00wXLVuM57DGUTGCrO_UsO0uIcD2B0301Jsg71Gk_94Eq5__XlIqkwp9stDhLIX0/s1600/what%3F.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv4QTP0M8BBPawqRSUln37wcqGfIPI-5YgOwaCCABeMPxfDXQlaRhuGD58elDh3i2UrKv3vXDfZ7O00wXLVuM57DGUTGCrO_UsO0uIcD2B0301Jsg71Gk_94Eq5__XlIqkwp9stDhLIX0/s1600/what%3F.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical Lazy Sunday</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He could still leap to really high tables and shelves, and never lost that agility with age, jumping back down again with an incredible thud! that I am sure my downstairs neighbors must have been less than ecstatic about. In CT my father would share pieces of roasted deli turkey with him, and this became his favorite snack. He began to expect a slice of it every day around 11, complaining bitterly if it was late. At Thanksgiving extra turkey was prepared just so he would have his share of leftovers. One Thanksgiving I came home with it and in his fervor, ran so fast and took such a massive leap onto the kitchen table that he skidded off the other end, fixing me with an “I meant to do that” expression from the ground that wasn’t fooling anyone. A friend once came over for a stewed chicken dinner and even though I thought I had covered the pot on the stove tightly, in the midst of lively conversation, there was Stealth Bruce dragging a chicken leg, leaving a saucy trail from the stove, down the cabinets and across the floor. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg84ecXk0OHzMM0hMQEkJllA-ElJ4gFmmJpx3Z6ZNuEDN9G30mDkf8WFFGguTaJuD6E7LJKf0nxcfWa9_ELbtlYhCHvTrsZl8NXTSEWYBge0cb41F3k4RKb_Al5EgBecAf3qbYiRLb1FPA/s1600/red-pawed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg84ecXk0OHzMM0hMQEkJllA-ElJ4gFmmJpx3Z6ZNuEDN9G30mDkf8WFFGguTaJuD6E7LJKf0nxcfWa9_ELbtlYhCHvTrsZl8NXTSEWYBge0cb41F3k4RKb_Al5EgBecAf3qbYiRLb1FPA/s1600/red-pawed.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicken Thief</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After two years in Fort Greene, we moved to Cobble Hill, where I all but abandoned jewelry for my next incarnation in the booze industry. This was when it was apparent that transporting him outside the home for any reason was going to be a massive challenge. Not only was he heavy, he was all but impossible to capture. Luckily the garden apartment neighbors in my new building are veterinarians. They sometimes wore those gloves reserved for birds of prey to capture him before sedating him for an examination. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He sounds vicious, but that was only when strangers did anything against his will. With me, he was shamelessly affectionate. Lying on the couch to watch TV, he would place his head on my chest with the entire length of his body, which stretched from my shoulders to my knees, completely slack, purring loudly as I rubbed his belly and under his chin. If I had to be somewhere in the mornings, I had to be sure to allow at least 10 minutes for the wake up cuddle. On the rare <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-7PZLfuaMph0_AiZkTPpGumA38aoGdADUwjSXJ_sYJD5fDT_tm054NJOkcoPuobwGfFEvfemzYfjfshhtNIGB1Eeb8fWSO5TViJEM0KwQunpDptkW4-uwcumEj4Y4Aa2PrVj8Y5OysY/s1600/tissue+box+bed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-7PZLfuaMph0_AiZkTPpGumA38aoGdADUwjSXJ_sYJD5fDT_tm054NJOkcoPuobwGfFEvfemzYfjfshhtNIGB1Eeb8fWSO5TViJEM0KwQunpDptkW4-uwcumEj4Y4Aa2PrVj8Y5OysY/s1600/tissue+box+bed.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For years he adopted a box this shape, lined with <br />
tissue paper, as his "bed." </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
occasions that I could sneak in a nap, he would join me with his head on my shoulder. He also did this if he sensed I wasn’t sleeping well, perhaps hoping to purr me to sleep. It often worked too. While he recovered from a wretched skin infection that actually nearly killed him a few months ago, one of the only places on his upper body that could be reached around the Cone of Shame was his face. He had taken to positioning himself so our noses could touch. He continued to do this after he didn’t need the cone anymore, rubbing my nose with his face, especially as a greeting. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m so thankful he lived as long as he did, and I am forever grateful for his companionship and love, brought to me when I needed it most. There are huge holes in my routine now, scenes missing. I don’t know how I will ever get used to the 11 o’clock hour without Turkey Time, or waking up without that cuddle or even fighting him off to enjoy my dinner. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiG-DnyPV4YyMY1rTo-VF1ZxRIJ58yTFTb_gnjyRvtNK6X4D9rSN7c5hmq0MlFOjpu41QF7hKlD9U0mg3c3MpI4Mnr8g9iYwcJjCPl3nFQ-8gdh7-qsEhDtDjD17z7SQjKGesp60B0ERA/s1600/book+cover.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiG-DnyPV4YyMY1rTo-VF1ZxRIJ58yTFTb_gnjyRvtNK6X4D9rSN7c5hmq0MlFOjpu41QF7hKlD9U0mg3c3MpI4Mnr8g9iYwcJjCPl3nFQ-8gdh7-qsEhDtDjD17z7SQjKGesp60B0ERA/s1600/book+cover.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The unofficial back cover of his novel. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’d like to thank everyone who cat sat for him over the years and put up with his shenanigans. Apologies for any swipes taken. He could be rude about indicating when to stop rubbing his ears. It’s been incredibly moving for me to see how far his personality reached, even to people he never met. I’m glad I was able to convey just how majestic, funny and special this animal was. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rest in peace, buddy. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtiNbvZDmrHPXCDHs0c-q9cAePcXnWxDMkyg6obJYf-Uo4-xZa1H9_uoo3yW_CEUKTKfa4LNcZufeeyJ0IBf9QCaGz0Nf69vC_Iy6wVt_9zYY1Gwso-kASsdrWYG9lp_KpX3VSr1BDQmg/s1600/reading.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtiNbvZDmrHPXCDHs0c-q9cAePcXnWxDMkyg6obJYf-Uo4-xZa1H9_uoo3yW_CEUKTKfa4LNcZufeeyJ0IBf9QCaGz0Nf69vC_Iy6wVt_9zYY1Gwso-kASsdrWYG9lp_KpX3VSr1BDQmg/s1600/reading.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You wanted to read that NOW. No, meow!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqXdlMoueZv8FATES1NwwBMsZjuNcYpqftVEE1s6wDScwLm4_LmF_e3YVxV-tLF93tHssOkPwEEFjGet3NBcMmVTJnVPVDuk_6FB-nHq1r4x0dAI3uQzhVQTwY92AJfXNUh5dphlvx2dA/s1600/wine+photo+bomb.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqXdlMoueZv8FATES1NwwBMsZjuNcYpqftVEE1s6wDScwLm4_LmF_e3YVxV-tLF93tHssOkPwEEFjGet3NBcMmVTJnVPVDuk_6FB-nHq1r4x0dAI3uQzhVQTwY92AJfXNUh5dphlvx2dA/s1600/wine+photo+bomb.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of many photobombed booze pics. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVS0sAT2p1EZNzKnc2kJf3U7Cghb0UzuA0yyyRRDRr2ZD6vxlwmZalLry47MBz_6TvkuICRFgWoqJjAC_Ks2sKLQc4paDAAzS4ombY0Ce451E4LVC0UAglK45qDuqqG_VAhfdaY01lDVE/s1600/best+tummy+ever.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVS0sAT2p1EZNzKnc2kJf3U7Cghb0UzuA0yyyRRDRr2ZD6vxlwmZalLry47MBz_6TvkuICRFgWoqJjAC_Ks2sKLQc4paDAAzS4ombY0Ce451E4LVC0UAglK45qDuqqG_VAhfdaY01lDVE/s1600/best+tummy+ever.JPG" height="320" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best. Tummy. Ever.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXeVQyCtZDsB-AEUCYIST-4qIlWlWzTXePR-G7XGT3mv6X-E-lZZMkA7ixSEO5oXlWdftmZTP5PMVpSCh7tuq3zPn64Q6JSORQJdXRk-Nxspk5jgoE1YZs3ILHZKgtjwBER-IPVyHL0KQ/s1600/actual+size.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXeVQyCtZDsB-AEUCYIST-4qIlWlWzTXePR-G7XGT3mv6X-E-lZZMkA7ixSEO5oXlWdftmZTP5PMVpSCh7tuq3zPn64Q6JSORQJdXRk-Nxspk5jgoE1YZs3ILHZKgtjwBER-IPVyHL0KQ/s1600/actual+size.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual Size.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhplklVvQI_M9jddB3mWCAUAbg4Oi0fvKZhuhgZsHZT5xVQsFH4FAQpcvf1ggDfIM5tizRi37qKTFXv2U8LFoThoVcIDZR_gEMuulgts8LvP3hxn7s3ZptQoMagnBdR0r125OCQfKGj2y4/s1600/my+boy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhplklVvQI_M9jddB3mWCAUAbg4Oi0fvKZhuhgZsHZT5xVQsFH4FAQpcvf1ggDfIM5tizRi37qKTFXv2U8LFoThoVcIDZR_gEMuulgts8LvP3hxn7s3ZptQoMagnBdR0r125OCQfKGj2y4/s1600/my+boy.JPG" height="257" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td></tr>
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winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-28577981704457567342014-06-19T20:16:00.000-04:002014-06-19T20:37:11.856-04:00You May Ask Yourself... <div style="text-align: left;">
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<br />
<br />
Is this thing on?<br />
<br />
Ahem.<br />
<br />
Hi!<br />
<br />
Remember me?<br />
<br />
Sorry it's been so long.<br />
<br />
So anyway. Here we are, and there are only hours left of being the answer, according to Douglas Adams in the <i><a href="http://www.douglasadams.com/creations/0345391802.html">Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy</a></i>, to Life, the Universe and Everything.<br />
<br />
Hours left of 42.<br />
<br />
Yes, the hours ticking away at 42, but not knowing why that's the answer.<br />
<br />
A week ago I discovered the question, when I realized I only had a week left. (I was never a procrastinator until I reached middle age.)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
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That question is... How the bloody hell did I get to be 43?<br />
<ul>
<li>Subquestion: Wasn't I 40 only recently?</li>
<li>For that matter, what happened to 35 - 39? </li>
<li>Actually, I'm not entirely sure what I did with 30 - 34, although I'm fairly certain I know what happened, at least, between 24 - 26. </li>
<li>Definitely 18 - 20. And 6 - 8. I know what happened there. </li>
<li>No one ever remembers 0 - 3, so in that I know I'm not alone. Those are the years that are just colors and shapes. In my case, probably really limpid colors and gaudy shapes. It was the 70s, after all. </li>
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<br />
<br />
Yet here I am. 43 just round the bend, wondering where I've been all these years. </div>
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Well, never mind that. Maybe I should stop wondering about what's happened, because the simple answer to that is A LOT, and start looking forward to what will. </div>
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And for now, what is. </div>
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Tonight is for me. My work is done. The humidity is clearing. The third longest day of the year is beginning to switch into twilight mode. I hear folks enjoying their garden dinner at the Lobo through the yard. There is a new bottle of <a href="http://www.thespiritsbusiness.com/2014/06/diageo-revives-tanqueray-old-tom-gin-recipe/">Tanqueray Old Tom Gin</a> waiting to be tasted, splashed into some tonic with lime and bitters. I have the dinner thing down too. Good pasta leftovers. </div>
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Ok, 43, come and get me with those crazy little digits! </div>
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Besides, I know I don't look it. </div>
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I sure don't feel it. </div>
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And that's what counts. </div>
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<br />winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-73342336884389357802014-02-09T14:21:00.002-05:002014-02-09T14:23:00.134-05:00Worded Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here we are in the 2nd full week of February and it's my first post here in the new year!<br />
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New. Year. So much pressure in those words. Let's play a little word association:<br />
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<b>New</b> - original, uncontaminated, different, unused, unfamiliar, pristine, mint condition.<br />
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<b>Year</b> - term, stages, cyclical, series of days organized by months, measure of time, ends with a mandatory festival of gluttony, evidence of age, add retinol skin cream to the shopping list.<br />
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I've been so busy, what with traveling to the Middle East for a family event, writing and editing articles, writing content for my other job's new campaign, attempting to stay warm in one of the most <a href="http://thinkprogress.org/climate/2014/02/08/3266731/hot-alaska-cold-georgia-polar-vortex/">brutal winters in recent memory</a>. I even had a relationship start to bloom then dissipate already this year.<br />
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<b>Hope</b> - expectancy, prospect, ambition, desire, anticipation, aspiration, maybe, for once, solace, comfort, affection, reliability, perchance to dream.<br />
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<li>antonym - appearances, false promise, disbelief, despair, excuses, falsehoods, rudeness, passive aggression, are you fucking kidding me with this linkedin request, silence. </li>
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This week a fracture was discovered in a bottom <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6S2hLJb5AUQ">back tooth</a>. Apparently I have been so stressed out that my jaw is clenching at night. The pressure has built around my gums and a wrong angle on an innocent chew sent a thin crack along the core of the tooth. I wonder what I was eating at the time? I think it might have happened when I was in Israel. I blame it on the baklava. </div>
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Blame It On Baklava. There's a name for a Middle Eastern indie rock band! </div>
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<b>Pressure</b> - tension, compression, heaviness, load, deadlines, timing, reception, appearances, integrity, authenticity, pleasing, makeup, bring the pretty, bring the funny, make it work, how many trivia questions can you possibly make up about Bourbon, infinity, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJOjHWr5jQc">groundhog day</a>, need vacation.</div>
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But if that's how it started, there's still nearly 10 months left for things to happen.</div>
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<b>Left</b> - sometime direction, remainder, vestige, empty canvass, clean slate, rest, plans, allotments, aspirations, goals, could just be more pressure, hopefully someone sends me to italy. </div>
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winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-53113179200429590442013-12-27T10:29:00.003-05:002013-12-27T10:29:38.081-05:00Listicle Schmisticle<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrX9d7oJP3U0vTJXbnM5Il2QQt0RitseO8sQTmP_olNfXk-qrh66tCk6DS7hxuIaJsvTIPZor_WFk99F_nh3DSTmWnSE301N1rbF9P6i6JdvLeFg8js8XO1Hvyr37f3p5ZOnjlazW0pEo/s1600/DUMBO+Bridge+View.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrX9d7oJP3U0vTJXbnM5Il2QQt0RitseO8sQTmP_olNfXk-qrh66tCk6DS7hxuIaJsvTIPZor_WFk99F_nh3DSTmWnSE301N1rbF9P6i6JdvLeFg8js8XO1Hvyr37f3p5ZOnjlazW0pEo/s320/DUMBO+Bridge+View.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Honorable mention, those spring and summer walks to DUMBO</td></tr>
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If you've been following my <strike>now woefully sporadic and neglected</strike> blog you have now come to anticipate the year end list. No, this is not my <b>Top 10 Things I Drank Out of a Coupe Glass</b> or <b>Top 15 Foods I Ate in Places That Are Supposed to Make You Envious I Got a Table There and You Didn't</b> or <b>Top 10 Movies I Managed to See in What Little Spare Time I Have </b>or <b>Top 8 Songs I Heard By New But Derivative Musicians. </b>While I actually did snag a table at <a href="http://www.grubstreet.com/2013/03/carbone-thompson-street-mario-carbne-rich-torrisi-italian-grandmothers.html">Carbone</a> earlier this year and left feeling guilty for starving children everywhere, this list is always about the top things that mattered to me in the year. The influencers, the catalysts, shit that really moved me beyond the every day.<br />
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And here we go, in no particular order. Also, I like the number 7 more than I like 10. It was a tough year, but a good one. Cheers to more adventures in 2014!<br />
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<b>That Cab Driver Who Picked Me Up Last New Year's Eve Which By Then Was Day</b>: I am utterly convinced my luck changed this year because the impossible happened - I got a cab to Brooklyn on New Year's Eve. For anyone who doesn't understand this, I should explain this is the equivalent of being an unknown actor chosen for a starring role in a movie or unlocking a portal into a world that consists entirely of gorgeous, uncomplicated people declaring their undying love for you while you romp with puppies and kittens who miraculously feed and clean after themselves and eat donuts without gaining an ounce. Though I spent much of the next day in a rather delicate condition speculating as to how I managed to get both a contact lens and a lipstick smear on my bathroom ceiling, days later, my career that I was convinced was totally over, came back in full swing and has continued to flourish. Thank you, Cab Driver, whoever you are. Well, it could also have been the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoppin'_John">Hoppin' John</a> I had the foresight to prepare the day before (see above). So doing that again!<br />
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<b><a href="http://peachesplums.blogspot.com/2013_08_01_archive.html">Amsterdam:</a></b> It had been years since I had taken a real vacation, more so since I had left the country. I had no money, I had no time. I was going to do it anyway. So what better way to do it than to take a huge leap outside my comfort zone and meet someone there whom I had never actually met in person and spend a few days exploring a new city together? I could actually write a whole entry here just about said person, who came to me in a cyber smoke signal <strike>Tweet </strike>out of nowhere and has since become one of the closest people in my life, even though he happens to live so very far away. But this is about our trip to Amsterdam, which was everything I could have wanted - meandering through a beautiful city with lovely architecture and stunning views, great meals that were all happenstance (including my favorite new game, Sushi Roulette), making new friends, drinking great drinks and turning a private hotel stash of hooch into the best bar in the city after hours with one of the loveliest travel companions a girl in midlife crisis could ask for. Late nights, short, hot days. It flew by way too quickly. My only regret was the inability to make time stop for us, short of that, extend my plane reservation.<br />
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<b>Bruce Is Alive and Well and Driving Me Crazy and I Couldn't Be More Grateful:</b> This time was for real. Halloween, 4 a.m. faced with the kind of agonizing decision I knew someday I might have to make, but couldn't possibly be prepared for. Something told me to let them do what they had to do and let the daylight shine new hope before I choose the wrong door. The supportive messages and calls came pouring in encouraging me not to put him down despite the cost, which was rapidly rising into the thousands. Thousands I simply didn't have. There was a chance it could all work out, shouldn't I take it? Wouldn't I regret it forever if there was even the slightest possibility he would be OK in the end? Well, this bad boy (no longer nearly as big) is currently in my lap, kneading his paws into my knees, purring and loudly begging for turkey slices, which he wouldn't be otherwise. I didn't save him. At least not alone. My friends did. You know who you are.<br />
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<b>Pistachios</b>: I seriously don't know what I would do without them. I'm going to say something you don't often hear. You ready? It's easy to get sick of nuts. No. Really. They get boring. Almonds? They turn to cardboard. Cashews? Too greasy sometimes. Hazelnuts tend to give me heartburn now. But somehow pistachios always keep the spark alive in the marriage for me and stave off my hunger when I get the Four O'Clocks. You little green, yummy minxes, you.<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.alcoholprofessor.com/2013/07/other-tales-to-tell/">New Orleans</a></b>: This year was my fourth trip there and this time it stole a piece of my heart it has yet to return. It's hard to put into words what exactly changed me, as the circumstances were much the same as before - hot, sweaty, drinky and crowded for Tales of the Cocktail in July. Maybe it was because this time the whole city felt like a familiar friend I wanted to get to know better. I learned there are things about it you can come to expect, the old standbys, the stubborn old grand dames of the city, but it's still full of pleasant surprises and new experiences. "Predictable" is not a word they will ever say about New Orleans. I can't wait to go back.<br />
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<b>Re-reading</b>: It's important to revisit certain books as one's own life chapters open and close. I had been remiss in this practice and brought it back this year. So wonderful to once again <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/105271.Into_the_Great_Wide_Open">explore places we didn't know we had places with Kevin Canty</a> and imbibe <a href="http://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Bartending/Cocktails/Pan_Galactic_Gargle_Blaster">Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters with Zaphod Beeblebrox</a>! Next up, <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/books/97/03/02/lifetimes/nab-r-palefire.html">Nabokov's <i>Pale Fire</i></a>, which I haven't read since college.<br />
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<b>Playing Hooky</b>: When you're unemployed for a long time like I was, you take your free time for granted. This year I've barely had a day off. What I can do on occasion is get my work done early and take an afternoon. I've had a few fantastic hours meeting friends for long, luxurious lunches with <strike>too</strike> much wine and conversation. I made it to Queens for the US Open and explored a little of Long Island City. And on a few occasions, I rediscovered what it feels like to get lost and relax in Central Park on a crisp, sunny day. I'm actually doing it this very minute by writing here instead of over there. Trust me, if I hadn't stolen these moments for myself I'd resemble <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lg7MAacSPNM">Zuul from Ghostbusters</a> right about now. Damn straight there will be more of that in 2014!winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-56274512248484048212013-10-13T17:21:00.000-04:002013-10-14T11:03:00.669-04:00Tuning Up<br />
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This time I'm not even going to bother apologizing for not writing here for so long. Anyone who knows me understands it has been an insanely busy time, and that most of my days have been spent writing in various forms so that when I do have free time, words only seem to come out of me in what seem like meaningless little dribbles. I find myself somewhat inarticulate in conversation these days for that reason, searching for the right words I would normally have at the ready. The high roller vocabulary has been used up for other purposes and I'm only left with spare change when I can manage to form cohesive sentences. I don't love it. My number one New Year's resolution for next year is more literary balance.<br />
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But one thing I am changing right here and now is listening to more music. It's hard to believe that at one time in my life music was so important to me that it informed much of the structure of my day - from what would be played upon awakening, to dressing and primping, to accompany cooking and meals, to take with me in transit, to recreation. Somehow that went away. I don't know if that was depression or simply a change in routine, but I am amazed that sometimes whole days go by when I don't listen to an album in full. That's very unlike me. At least it would have been.<br />
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Last week I was writing a <a href="http://www.alcoholprofessor.com/2013/10/from-orchard-to-glass-autumn-plums/">cocktail article</a> and decided to challenge myself by naming every drink after a song or musical term, to get me back in the groove. One drink was inspired by "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HDgNHoHhgPU">One Rainy Wish</a>" by Jimi Hendrix, because despite mostly brownish liquids, when shaken together, they were sort of a burnt gold. Which got me thinking about golden roses. Which got me thinking about a rather peculiar, funny dream about a good friend. Which got me thinking about that song - "Golden rose/the color of the dream I had." How long it has been since I heard that song! WHY has it been so long since I heard that song? I used to listen to Jimi all the time.<br />
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Sure, Jimi is everywhere, especially if you go to bars as often as I do, and I am always happy to hear that sharp guitar and the clear, warm cadence of his voice. But how long had it been since I had actively chosen a Jimi Hendrix song and pressed PLAY? It turns out at least twelve years. When my husband and I split, he took most of our classic rock album/CD collection with him. Jimi was one of the first artists we ever bonded over, and though I eventually replaced most of what he took, I never bothered with Hendrix.<br />
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Coincidentally, yesterday would have been my 17th wedding anniversary. It was a day very much like yesterday was - sunny, crisp, warm during the day, cool at night. The sort of day that reminds me of "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d7R7q1lSZfs">Golden Brown</a>" by the Stranglers (yes I know that tune has nothing at all to do about weather or autumn or leaves, but crisp autumn weather always inspires that tune just as the first stark, cold day of winter always begs for "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPuxrLAbONk">Desire</a>" by Talk Talk.) For several years October 12th has passed with barely a thought beyond "Oh, yeah. That happened." However, yesterday got me thinking about all the things in my life I have now that I wouldn't if I had stayed married. How grateful I am for those people and experiences, especially the day after knocking down whisky with Scotsmen after a <a href="http://www.whiskyfestblog.com/">big booze convention</a>! The only thing I was really missing about my ex was our intense musical connection. It was time to listen to Jimi again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silvermine, CT fall of 2012</td></tr>
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I had a long talk with my friend John over a backyard fire pit last night about him - and I recalled the first time I remember ever hearing his sound - in a Sam Goody record store in Westport, CT when I was six! I had grown up in a mostly classical and musical theater household. Though they were exactly the right age for it, somehow the music of the 1960's, Woodstock and the Summer of Love completely bypassed my parents' cultural existence, so there wasn't a whole lot of crunchy guitar in my environment yet. This was a completely new and interesting intonation to me. I was with my father, who was picking out some classical records, and said I could choose one thing for myself. However when I asked for what they were playing, I wasn't allowed. My dad HATED it, and he didn't want to have to hear that "noise" blasting out of my bedroom. At least not yet. Six-year-old girls grow into twelve-year-olds and he must have known there was time enough for music like that in our lives. For now, something less offensive to his ears. What did I end up taking home that day instead? I don't remember. Maybe I'm afraid to remember. So much bad music existed in 1977 for me before I knew there was good music. It was probably a<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K-tel"> K-Tel</a> compilation that included a disco rendition of the <i>Star Wars</i> theme.<br />
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I didn't end up buying my first Jimi disc till high school, a greatest hits compilation. It was actually one of the first CD's I ever purchased instead of vinyl. That was one of the discs that ended up on the truck to West Virginia, where my future ex-husband was moving. This was before one could easily attain any piece of music from the Internet, mind. A rule had been made that whoever gets possession of a certain artist's music gets the entire catalog, not individual albums, despite who had them first. So he had brought most of the Hendrix to the relationship - <i>Axis: Bold as Love, Electric Ladyland, Are You Experienced?, Valleys of Neptune. </i>Mine went with him. It was a stupid rule, but we had been arguing incessantly for nearly ten years. I think our music collection had been keeping us together for as long as we stayed. Now I just wanted it to end. Fine. Take it. For peace sakes, take it. Take it all.<br />
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I'm glad it's time again. Gotta love the cycle of autumn. I owe it to my ears to keep them happy.<br />
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Cheers, all!<br />
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<br />winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-65855968092674629832013-08-12T12:51:00.000-04:002013-08-12T14:55:40.095-04:00A Bar in Amsterdam <br />
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In a world, where a tired, overworked and single American woman maxes out a credit card to spend six days in a beautiful, old European city to meet up with a younger, cute European man who makes drinks...<br />
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The whole time I was there, I felt like I was starring in a movie version of my life. Was this really happening?<br />
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I didn't have the money for the trip at all, but I had the credit. Fuck it. So there I was, in a hotel in Amsterdam at 3am, eating fine dark chocolate and drinking a <a href="http://www.esquire.com/drinks/sazerac-drink-recipe">Sazerac</a> made with one of the <a href="http://oldripvanwinkle.com/van-winkle-family-reserve-rye/">rarest ryes in the world</a> (I brought it from my own collection) and an absinthe bitters not yet in the marketplace, sitting on a bed across from Jens (say "Yentz"), this Dresden-based German bartender I'd previously only seen on a computer screen. Four nights and five more days ahead of us and this was how it was starting out? Dang. The rapport was easy and natural, and I could tell in that comfortable and decadent moment with that person I knew so well in some ways but also barely knew, this was all going to be worth it.<br />
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And it was. Everything those few days just happened as they needed to, all falling into place. </div>
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I'm no stranger to foreign travel, having grown up in a globe-trotting family. But traveling with my parents never felt like vacation. Our days would be so packed with mandatory activities to museums and other sights that there was barely time to relax and take in the local scenery. Dinner and even lunch was spoken for weeks in advance, no wandering into a cafe to take one's chances, no repeat visits to favorite places that would become our locals far from home. Sorry Mom and Dad, I love you, and appreciate all you've done for me, but going places with you is about as relaxing as algebra homework.<br />
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So as an adult, I try to do the opposite of that when I travel on my own. I do some research into where I am going and then just wander when I get there. I tend to avoid the museums and touristy sites or make definite plans or reservations. Most of the time, this has worked out beautifully, and the stories, so to speak, wrote themselves. But as exciting as it is, it's lonely, and for years, due to lack of money, due to being chronically single, I stopped traveling. Except now I didn't have to be alone. Not only did I get to spend six days with Jens, but also two with my dear pal Nick, who came into town from England for a little cameo appearance and a great canal-side dinner.<br />
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Jens made arrangements to do a couple of guest-bartending shifts at the most happening cocktail bar in town, <a href="http://www.door-74.com/">Door 74</a>. We spent most of our first evening there getting to know the staff (particularly Timo, Ben and Kevin), and by the time I returned to visit Jens, the bar already felt like home.<br />
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He also gave a talk on the <a href="http://www.esquire.com/drinks/old-fashioned-drink-recipe">Old Fashioned cocktail</a>, introducing his own spins on it. It was fun to see a demonstration on <a href="http://www.alcoholprofessor.com/2013/03/the-old-fashioned-gets-an-unusual-update/">his version</a> which involves lighting a cinnamon stick and releasing its aroma into the glass, which hangs out while the rest of the drink - with bitter orange jam, bourbon and chocolate bitters - is built then shaken to emulsify the jam. Yes, you purists, a shaken Old Fashioned! This was the drink that first introduced me to Jens when I became his editor back in March, and our comraderie evolved from there. Last March the idea of this drink being made before my eyes in a bar in Amsterdam months later seemed as remote to me as spontaneously growing an extra digit, but there I was!<br />
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On down time, we mostly wandered, our only real touristy activities were taking a one hour boat ride along the canals and visiting the maritime museum - <a href="http://www.hetscheepvaartmuseum.nl/">Het Scheepvaartmuseum</a> - because we liked the look of it from the boat. The inside was cool and serene, and we enjoyed a lovely lunch out on the deck along the water.<br />
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The highlight of our day activities was a personal tour of the <a href="http://www.bols.com/nl/about-house-of-bols-2-2/">House of Bols</a>, which had been arranged through my contacts. There we met the lovely Amber, who took us through the sensory exhibit, then led us into the bar, where Frank made us rounds of cocktails using the range of their spirits. Though they didn't have the necessary ingredients, they did "McGuyver" a Negroni for us out of Genever, rosso vermouth, dry curaçao and lots of Angostura bitters. Very hospitable bunch! Amber joined me at the bar later to visit Jens with her friend Fernando and we had a blast hanging out.<br />
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Incidentally, the bathroom graffiti at the top of the page is from <a href="http://www.talesandspirits.com/">Tales and Spirits</a>, where we spent the last evening of our trip drinking cocktails by Danil Nevsky. Well curated back bar, inventive drinks and lovely, cozy space. Wish we'd had more time there!<br />
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But the best bar was our own, Bar 505. My whiskeys, absinthe, absinthe bitters, <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2010/11/the-tonka-bean-an-ingredient-so-good-it-has-to-be-illegal/65616/">tonka beans</a> (illegal in the states due to the coumarin content), a bit of fire, chocolate, just us having our own time together. Our own bar in Amsterdam built by two people meeting from opposite sides of the world.<br />
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Sometimes, kids, you just have to take risks. I'd give anything to be back there now.<br />
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winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-29539006608761382402013-06-16T18:39:00.001-04:002013-06-16T19:27:14.330-04:00Spark<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On Friday, I said to myself: "Who are you and what have you done to Amanda?"<br />
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If I were starring in the<i> Lifetime</i> movie version of my own autobiography, that afternoon would have been the scene were I look in the mirror, scream, grab a pair of scissors and start hacking off all my hair.<br />
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Because, don't you know, this is what women do when they reach a breaking point, the tears mixing with the shorn locks as they slowly fall, swirling toward our feet. When it's over, the remaining strands stick up in uneven tufts, and I would run my fingers through them, no longer crying, only giving my reflection an icy stare. For some reason, Pat Benatar's "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9J9rTZJBmw">Love is a Battlefield</a>" starts playing in the background and I reach for a black, tight-fitting, cropped leather jacket that miraculously appears in my wardrobe, insert hoop earrings, drawn on the reddest mouth possible and give my reflection one final nod before heading out the door. Even though moments before, the floor had so much hair on it that it looked like what I would imagine as the bottom of Robin William's drained hot tub, somehow it's all swept up when the camera pans down again.<br />
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In the next scene, the tufts have, of course, arranged themselves into a perfect Anne Hathaway pixie cut and people gasp at my courageous beauty as I pass them on the street. Will I receive the same <a href="http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2013/01/18/the-cult-of-hathahaters-will-it-hurt-anne-hathaway-s-oscar-chances.html">baseless hatred</a> she does if I post the photos of my new do on Twitter?<br />
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But I didn't hack my hair off and there is no melodramatic movie about my life. At least not yet.<br />
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However, I knew it was time to change things up.<br />
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I'm just not having enough fun. Working at home long, exhausting hours, going out mainly only to work events and the occasional social meetup in many of the usual places, not making time to explore, or even see a movie, I just wasn't taking advantage of the great city I live in anymore. I realized I've been treating New York like a worn out spouse, not allowing myself to see or experience the attractive parts of it that made me want to commit to the relationship in the first place, or find better ways of bringing back its romance. I was making excuses for it - too expensive, too fattening, too late, too early, too tired. On top of all of this, by Friday, I was left blinking in the smokey trail of yet another failed romantic situation with an actual person. One that was now peeling out of view. I was angry at him, but mostly at myself for believing in the situation's all too apparent impossibility in the first place. Silly me.<br />
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Clearly, this was the moment to start having fun again.<br />
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Though I wasn't exactly feeling up to it, I met with old friends on Friday and stayed out past my self-imposed F train curfew, splurging for the cab. Saturday, on fumes of sleep and with Irish whiskey likely still jigging in my bloodstream, I honored a long standing, out of the way, brunch date with a colleague that I was slightly dreading, but ended up thoroughly enjoying. I walked all the way downtown in the crisp, but summery air, feeling confident at my newly buff body in a figure-hugging dress. Making my way through the east 30's, I allowed myself to walk past and look in to Grandma Nina's old building for the first time in years. I usually go out of my way to avoid that corner. As I paused there, I let the nostalgia and sense of loss swell into my chest and held it, almost savoring it, then felt it deflate again at the corner once the light changed.<br />
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I continued walking and observing. Through the Union Square farmer's market (no <a href="http://imbibemagazine.com/Lu-s-Brandied-Cherries">sour cherries for cocktails</a> yet - dang!), down along the Bowery to witness a casual, broad daylight drug exchange because no one told <i>these</i> guys the East Village is over! The rest of the day finally taking in <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2013/jun/02/joss-whedon-reading-comics-pay-off">that movie</a>, and loving it beyond expectation, with John. The two of us then ventured to unexplored territory in a now unfamiliar section of my old Brooklyn neighborhood, ending the night with seats at what is usually an overly crowded bar, with a snifter of Calvados and just the right vibe to end the night. I even got home on the train quickly from there. On Sunday, with Father's Day plans on hold till the next day, I skipped my work out for the first time in months, managed to run errands, clean and have enough of the afternoon left to see another movie. I let myself have two true days off in a row! A real weekend, and I did stuff, for once! My lover, the city, had done the equivalent of bringing me an unexpected bouquet of roses, and I feel a renewed affection for it.<br />
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As I type this, I realize I should probably be doing work now before cooking dinner (tequila-marinated chicken in my future!). But because this is all about me making time for myself, it feels more right to jot things down here in this neglected depot of essays.<br />
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It's nearly my birthday, dammit. And I am not letting myself go sour.winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-55249683499902733432013-06-01T09:53:00.001-04:002013-06-01T09:53:41.589-04:00Rabbit! Rabbit!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's June!</div>
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I had a memory last night of the year I was going to turn four. I was tired of being three. At the time, my best friends were a brother and his sisters who lived down the street from me. The brother was already four and his sisters were a couple of years older. I was the baby. I didn't want to be the baby anymore - I wanted to be all grown up! I wanted to be four! </div>
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Four meant I was old enough to climb the ladder on the playground slide by myself. And not the baby one with only two small steps, but the "big girl" ladder - the one with five steps and the bigger, swooshy chute. Four meant I could swim with the big kids in the public, chlorinated, man-made pond with a sandy outer rim, the closest thing we had to a beach in that little, land-locked town I grew up in. I would no longer have to stay in the shallow section behind the light pink and blue floating buoys with the other babies. </div>
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I was a tall toddler. Way taller than the other kids my age. I once overheard my Brazilian nanny, who held nothing back, telling my parents that people who didn't know me thought I was mentally challenged. Ok, for the sake of 1970's authenticity, you know those weren't her exact words. Well, Judy also had a pretty outrageous Portuguese accent. She said they thought I was "e-retardit" because I was so much bigger than the other kids in the baby section. There must be something wrong with that old thing sulking by herself next to all the drooling little people who can't talk. </div>
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I used to try to swim right to the line of buoys, holding on with my hands, letting my toes float infront of me into the big kid section - please, at least let part of me be with the big kids?- hoping the lifeguard wouldn't notice. Then the whistle would blow and I was back with the babies. One of them probably peed in the murky, brown water right next to me just for good measure. </div>
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When I was turning four, I had just learned what months are, and that June was MY month! </div>
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I have to say, that anticipation for the month of June hasn't gone away. I'm excited for this month! Another big birthday coming up, although now at the age of, um, at my age now, I want to play with the younger kids again. Luckily no one thinks I'm "e-retardit" for doing so. Great things happening. Certain beans were already spilled, but I think there still might be some hiding out to surprise me later. </div>
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It's been busy and I've had almost no time for things I even *like* doing. But playtime is (fingers crossed!) coming up soon. Things could still go wrong, as they do, which is why I still had to say "Rabbit! Rabbit!" first thing when I woke up on the first of the month, for good luck. </div>
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Besides, I still think rabbits are awfully cute... </div>
winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-68619776697551640242013-05-03T08:29:00.000-04:002013-05-03T08:29:54.915-04:00Multiple Personality Traits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Baby needs a day off.<br />
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This has been wonderful, don't get me wrong. I am THRILLED that the start of this year has brought me so many unexpected opportunities. I'm back in the game, bitches!<br />
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But it has been nonstop. Each day starts earlier than the last, compelled to get it all done. The vernacular of my work ethic simply does not allow for "piecemeal," "later" and "gently past due." Each day is a sprint. Since this entails completing tasks for at least four out of my six or seven (could it even be eight now?) freelance jobs in a given day, I have to creatively allot focus for each. Twitter is a daily multi-personality disorder, posting in different tones for different accounts.<br />
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But those "tones" have started having their own conversations with each other. I am lost. Don't understand what I mean? Imagine yourself as an actor who is doing a play and a movie and a TV series all at once, portraying different characters. One day you find your theater self addressing the movie character, who just made a cameo on the TV show. It's six o'clock and you realize all the characters went out for a drink and left you crashing, exhausted on your couch. Are they getting schnoggered and talking trash about you?<br />
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Some days do that to me.<br />
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At least the editorial work is wonderful. I love being an editor. I really do. But that is also its own set of unsustainable energies that could use a little R and R.<br />
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People tell me I look good. Thank you. But at my age, you only look as good as the quality of your eye cream.<br />
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An appointment near Central Park on the consummate spring day in New York City made me realize what I've been missing. The appointment finished earlier than expected, and I had gotten enough accomplished before I left the computer to do a little remote work in the park. Outside. Like, sitting in the warm, lithium rays of the sun, with cute little birds around me and flowering trees. I needed some nach-ah. As long as I could still see the buildings in the distance, I wasn't wandering too far, was I?<br />
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And you know what? I got everything done that day, even with that little break. I really need to start telling my inner drill sergeant to give it a rest. Maybe put some ambien in his coffee. The work will get done. As an old friend once said to me, when his grandma was on her deathbed, she never said, "I wish I'd worked more."<br />
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Now let me go before my bourbon account starts doing shots with the Irish vodka.<br />
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<br />winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-82482315243564013552013-04-03T08:26:00.000-04:002013-04-03T08:26:22.100-04:00You Better Work! <br />
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Ah, it's good to be back in the game!<br />
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Reason I've been so quiet over here is there has been very little time to focus on my own writing. I miss it, and have now completely missed the deadlines I set for myself to finish my novel, but in a way, that's a good thing. I needed to be busier with projects that, you know, pay me.<br />
<br />
In the past month, on top of the social media and PR consulting I do on the side, I helped launch a new online beverage industry magazine, <a href="http://www.alcoholprofessor.com/">Alcohol Professor</a>, and I'm <a href="http://www.alcoholprofessor.com/author/amanda-schuster/">Senior Editor in Chief</a> this time y'all! It's exciting to choose content, curate assignments and do all the behind the scenes production, plus spread the word on social media. A lot to do, but I'm digging it. I feel like I'm back in the groove.<br />
<br />
I'm excited that tonight I will be attending my first <a href="http://www.whiskylive.com/usa/70/new-york-2013">Whisky Live</a> in years where I don't have to make up some sheepish bullshit answer if someone asks me what I'm up to.<br />
<br />
That is soooo 2012.<br />
<br />
(Well, and 2011, 2010 and 2009, but who's counting?)<br />
<br />
But yes, that's what's been going on. I'm a working hussy again.<br />
<br />
I'll write again soon. No really.<br />
<br />
Cheers!<br />
<br />winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-88652254336220203472013-03-15T10:11:00.001-04:002013-03-15T10:12:16.829-04:00Selected Shorts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
So I went ahead and did it. I entered the Selected Shorts 2013 Stella Kupferberg Memorial Short Story contest. Yep. The one on NPR. Maybe you've heard the show some Sunday afternoon while chopping vegetables.<br />
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Of course, having known the date of the deadline for months, I let it get down to a week before to figure out what to submit. I had it written, but knew it needed editing. Then when I re-read the contest rules I discovered the story I wanted to use was something like 2500 words too many!<br />
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The rules:<br />
<ul>
<li>Must be about complicated family relationships</li>
<li>Must be no more than 750 words</li>
<li>Must have a title.</li>
</ul>
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That last one tormented me for days. Couldn't figure out what to name my baby. Still can't, but what I came up with will have to do. </div>
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The chances of them choosing my story from the hundreds of submissions (guess that's why the lame word count?) is slimmer than Posh Spice with a flesh eating virus. But hey. I did it. Cheers. To. That.</div>
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Here it is in case you want to read it. All exactly 750 words of it. And yes, a longer version of it is in the part of the book. Enjoy.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Like Aurora and Emma</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By Amanda Schuster</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sitting beside my daughter as she sleeps off another round of her medication, I can’t help but think of all the times I’ve wanted to kill her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I swore when Delia became an adult and moved out into the world, I would find a way to forgive and be more involved in her life. Terms of Endearment always made me cry. Not because the daughter dies in the end, not the transfer of exquisite pain at a mother’s loss. It was witnessing Shirley MacLaine and Debra Winger as mother and daughter, as best friends. The first time I saw it I cried at my own lost chances. The second time I cried from sheer jealousy. From then on it was the line, “Momma, that’s the first time I stopped hugging first. I like that.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had to take her back in again. Guess I’ll have to stop calling her an asshole behind her back. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know none of her behavior was meant to intentionally hurt us, but it did. Ira said he left when our young love went empty, but all the trouble she caused took its toll. Why couldn’t they give Delia drugs back then? These days, kids don’t feel like reading in school, and it’s diagnosed as a legitimate disease. I would like to be the doctor to say, “Sorry Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So, I’m afraid your son/daughter has Childhood. I suggest you let them play outside for an hour and threaten not to let them watch TV if they don’t do homework.” All those screens and flashing pictures now. It’s no wonder they can’t concentrate! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">None of the doctors could find anything wrong. Compulsive lying is not a disease, they said. Everything else checked out. She was happy. She was perfectly normal in every way. She would grow out of it, just a phase. She even made them laugh. Everyone thought that conniving little scamp was so funny. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Things would be different if I knew she really couldn’t help it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now she has something real. They have a word for it, but they don’t have the right drugs. Why is it they can cure Distraction but not this? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of the worst humiliations happened when the school moms held a gathering at Jane and Phil Fogerty’s house. I never enjoyed those mandatory social events. I wouldn’t voluntarily call or hobnob with these people if our children didn’t know each other. They always looked at me in my hippy skirts like I was some sort of gorgon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Almost every mother from Delia’s class was there. The house was decorated in hues of noncommittal, muted colors that matched in their collective blandness. They drank white wine with ice cubes. Phil walked in, made some comment about being afraid of so many women in one place (I’ll bet, Candyhips), filled his own glass and left the room. No one offered me any, so I helped myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I got strange looks. Was some unseen servant supposed to be doing this for me? The wine was too sweet and a little skunky, but I drank it anyway. I heard someone behind me say, “Marcy, I can’t believe you’re still so thin!” Said in that way those women had, the last word in a sentence emphasized with a corrosive shriek. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I turned around. Everyone was staring. One of the ice cubes made a popping noise and slid further down the glass. I noticed most of the ladies were looking at my hand. The one holding the glass. Or was it the glass itself? Was I using the wrong one? I thought that was forks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Still?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“How far along are you now? According to Delia, it must be at least five months!” she shrieked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Delia sleeps with a hand under her head, same as her baby days. Would she be able to take some soup soon? Maybe what’s left of the bond between us can be bridge by food. That is, if she eats what I prepare for her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As I peel the carrots, I think about the days and weeks ahead. Will I have my “GIVE HER THE SHOT!!!” moment with the nurses? The real panic is more immediate. She’s going to wake up in a few minutes. I haven’t got a goddamn clue what to say to her when she does. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let’s start with soup and go from there. </span></div>
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winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-48918850657018453932013-02-14T08:40:00.003-05:002013-02-14T11:24:21.498-05:00Ode to the Blood Orange<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDkEdJr7gxE9CIag02io3g5CJpu6iBKpWndKfYL5t8YQHK1FrgEpu6cyZVjvgweFqFAXzQLku6nGbi2QUFQiFQBJxeejekyw59ETVog1MI1BoWkjjQj2KMpcOx-wsFniC9RTmxWTjEqo/s1600/blood+orange.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDkEdJr7gxE9CIag02io3g5CJpu6iBKpWndKfYL5t8YQHK1FrgEpu6cyZVjvgweFqFAXzQLku6nGbi2QUFQiFQBJxeejekyw59ETVog1MI1BoWkjjQj2KMpcOx-wsFniC9RTmxWTjEqo/s320/blood+orange.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's fitting that blood oranges are in season the week of February 14th, because I am in love with them.<br />
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I love everything about them - the gradations of reds and yellows on their skin like a sunset, slicing them open to reveal that striking, sexy and luscious dark flesh on the inside, the surprise of its flavors. There is a cool citrus sweetness there, distinctly, well, orange. But then things turn up at the end into a sharp bite of bitterness, akin to grapefruit, but more focused and quick. "Don't mess with me," it seems to say. "Take me seriously. Treat me with respect." Like most great lovers, they're only around for a couple of weeks and then disappear. They return the next year, and all is forgiven, but fleeting. Squeeze them wrong, their juice sprays all over, and it will stain. As it should.<br />
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I'm not a fan of Valentine's Day. I never was, even in the times I've had a man to spend it with. Like New Year's Eve or St. Patrick's Day, it's one of those holidays accompanied with too much pressure. Nowhere is safe. Places normally of refuge - my favorite bars and restaurants, feel it's necessary to come up with some sort of love theme menu, at a "special" price to make it easier, take the guessing out of ordering. Doesn't it occur to them to NOT do that, for the people who are already in love, and know what they want, what their significant other wants? It's a favorite restaurant because they serve favorite foods, which is incredibly romantic. But no, on that night, you have to order something else. At a higher price. Dessert isn't desired, it's settled upon, because it's included in the price. Bet you didn't realize Valentine's Day is actually a Jewish holiday in disguise.<br />
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Then there are the choices with anti-love themed items. Why does it have to be either or? Why can't I just be a person on Valentine's Day? If I'm not lucky to have someone to love, then why do I have to be made to feel a sociopathic response to it instead?<br />
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Don't get me started on the cocktails. Cloying, Gooey, sticky, fatty - an excuse to get rid of all the bottom shelf liqueurs. Yeah, that'll make you look super hot with your clothes off.<br />
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But back to blood oranges.<br />
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Bitter, sour, sweet, all at the same time. The embodiment of love and love lost. And being forced inside because nowhere is sacred. Enjoyed in privacy, letting that sweet juice run all over, and no one will care. Perfect.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNQnhA09LrfspWUXodKyF2FbHPGF0NFkPJlQR_PC8GIoqqaYus-Og0Ks_xN65YWYBpYzmcYcWZs-tYXKuL2JG90DGklM5-L617UuOnroTja6CDzp7d4slYkf3hioi3njFwf2x3wi09u0/s1600/Sangre+Valentine+ingredients.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNQnhA09LrfspWUXodKyF2FbHPGF0NFkPJlQR_PC8GIoqqaYus-Og0Ks_xN65YWYBpYzmcYcWZs-tYXKuL2JG90DGklM5-L617UuOnroTja6CDzp7d4slYkf3hioi3njFwf2x3wi09u0/s320/Sangre+Valentine+ingredients.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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For Valentine's Day, I wanted to create a cocktail with ingredients that frame the inherent flavors of that sensuous fruit, using ingredients that, like love, are rare and decadent in their own right, and rich in flavor but not heavy-handed. The Dell'Erborista amaro adds a drop of punishment, but used sparingly, keeps it sexy.<br />
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<b>San Valentín Sagriento (My Bloody Valentine)</b><br />
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2 oz straight rye whiskey<br />
1/2 oz <a href="http://www.cocchi.it/eng/barolo_chinato.htm">Barolo Chinato Cocchi</a><br />
1/4 oz <a href="http://www.domaineselect.com/page_templates/spiritsproduct.cfm?prodid=4496&market=">Amaro Dell'Erborista </a><br />
1/2 oz fresh blood orange juice<br />
1-2 bar spoons (depending on how much of a spanking from the Dell'Erborista you can take) of good quality maple syrup<br />
3-4 drops <a href="http://www.atthemeadow.com/shop/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=3_143_228_169&products_id=1217">Bitters Old Men Macadamia </a><br />
1/2 wheel of the blood orange for garnish<br />
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Combine all ingredients in a shaker with ice. Shake until joined and cold of heart. Strain into chilled cocktail glass. Attempt to balance the half orange wheel on the rim, but it's Ok to let it fall into the glass. The greatest love is never perfect.<br />
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Cheers!winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-73164112570360894972013-02-01T12:06:00.003-05:002013-02-02T09:53:40.259-05:00Eras - Ending, Beginning and Enduring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"The end of an era" has become an all too familiar term. I am now at that age where I hear it on a near weekly basis. In New York City, in particular, in the current state of commercial realty, there is physical evidence <a href="http://dinersjournal.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/11/30/stage-deli-closes-a-midtown-staple-since-1937/">that eras have been ending all over the plac</a>e.<br />
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In the past month, eras ended for two of my good friends, who both lost their mothers after long illnesses. One of them, was<a href="http://www.variety.com/article/VR1118064951/"> a Broadway stage actress and beloved voice teacher</a>. Both of them were just all around excellent moms and fantastic women.<br />
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Yesterday, I had dinner on the Upper West Side with a dear friend I don't get to see very often. One of the reasons we reconnected recently was because an era had ended for her, and I was a significant part of it in some way. She had informed me a couple of weeks ago that her best friend from childhood, and someone I knew at one point well enough to invite to my wedding (as most of you know, great party the marriage had no chance of living up to) had died suddenly from lung cancer in November. My friend's grief was still so new, raw and perplexing, that it hadn't occurred to her to inform people until months later.<br />
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When she told me, I was gobsmacked, although I can't claim that this person was someone I considered a close, inner circle friend. We had exchanged a few letters when we were teenagers, she in Westchester, me in Connecticut. Mostly as a show of solidarity and support for our mutual friend, instead of what could have been a brutal rivalry - teenage girls being what they are. We reconnected again some time before I was married, and stayed in touch for a few years after that before she permanently moved to Paris and started a family. Our mutual friend would show me pictures, and give me updates on her life. I would wish her well, and ask after her. But we had stopped communicating entirely, mostly because we were both busy or otherwise pre-occupied - middle aged adults in different countries being what they are. The mutual friend and I had also pretty much stopped communicating in the last couple of years. Though we live in the same city, our lives are very different in many ways. It was just one of those things.<br />
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It was wonderful to see her last night. Over a cocktail and subsequent dinner near Lincoln Center, we caught ourselves up with the highlight reels of our recent lives. Over dessert, she gave me the full rundown on what happened to our friend. One of the reasons so few people knew is because she was in complete denial that she was dying, even at the end. Her health had so efficiently turned against her that she when it became apparent she wasn't going to make it, she didn't have time to process what was happening, or leave instructions, or say goodbyes. When the day came, it was so sudden and so physically far away, that those close to her could only go into a sort of logistical autopilot of arrangements and plane reservations.<br />
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This was all very sad to me. When we parted in the cold, windy night on upper Broadway, my friend and I promised to be better at staying in touch, which I believe we will be. Life is indeed too short, and we have now reached the age where we can no longer have faith that people we once knew are still kicking around somewhere. I walked past Lincoln Center, which never ceases to take my breath away when I see it lit up at night, the fountain in the foreground, the huge Chagall paintings adding colorful backdrop through the windows of the Met in the distance. How many times have I walked past this scene through the ages? It always seems to be there for all my life's turning points. Won't it always be there for me? In that moment, I became so aware of time passing that it was as though I could feel it slicing through me. It's not a good feeling. I don't recommend it. Hard on the eyes on a cold night...<br />
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So this morning, when I learned of the passing of Mayor Ed Koch, I was taken aback in a different way. This man was such an integral component of our culture, like it or not, that it simply never occurred to me there would be a day he'd cease to exist. A face and voice I'd known and appreciated since I was capable of knowing anything, and now it's gone. Maybe he made some unpopular choices, but I still feel an affection for him because of how much he truly loved this city and (I like to think, anyway) the people in it.<br />
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So on this day, the first of the month, which is also the 100th birthday of Grand Central Station (where as a child I thought Michelangelo had painted the ceiling), I bid adieu to lost eras, while welcoming new ones, and celebrating those wonderful structures I hope will always be the scenery in the ever-changing narrative of my life. This calls for a cocktail.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRciu80YmPxWzLUkHgnNofPaylU-heXkxF8dvQNMiRNzLR0aSgHrskT-o3L27hZjnV_MQMXyyy7HZS1TnxlkDgSaJr2H353MBxZ9D-uNKZRGNqhGpjl9-H7Sx8wUOC5vl_viaUnzQ6yP4/s1600/New+York+Sour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRciu80YmPxWzLUkHgnNofPaylU-heXkxF8dvQNMiRNzLR0aSgHrskT-o3L27hZjnV_MQMXyyy7HZS1TnxlkDgSaJr2H353MBxZ9D-uNKZRGNqhGpjl9-H7Sx8wUOC5vl_viaUnzQ6yP4/s320/New+York+Sour.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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(courtesy Saveur.com)</div>
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I thought about creating one especially for him, and to commemorate Grand Central Station maybe, and all the things I appreciate about this city, but also the elements that make it challenging. But you know what? That cocktail already exists. It's called a New York Sour. This recipe calls for rye, but I think bourbon, irish whiskey or brandy would work just as well. Maybe for Koch float some <a href="http://www.manischewitzwine.com/">Manischewitz </a>instead of a typical dry wine. Up to you. Cheers, New York City! Here's to many more memories, sweet and tart.<br />
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Via <a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/10/the-new-york-sour-drinks-cocktails-recipe.html">Serious Eats</a>: The New York Sour<br />
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2 ounces rye whiskey<br />
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice<br />
1 - 1 1/2 teaspoons sugar (or 1/4 - 1/2 ounce simple syrup), to taste<br />
splash chilled club soda (optional)<br />
1/2 ounce dry red wine<br />
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Add sugar and lemon juice to a cocktail shaker and stir to dissolve (if using simple syrup, skip this step).<br />
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Add whiskey to lemon/sugar mixture and fill cocktail shaker with ice.<br />
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Shake well for 10 seconds, and strain into either an ice-filled rocks glass or a chilled cocktail glass. Add splash of club soda (optional).<br />
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Carefully pour the red wine over the back of a bar spoon so it forms a layer atop the drink.<br />
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winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-35738506857227885002013-01-07T08:31:00.000-05:002013-01-07T08:31:46.585-05:00In the Future...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOxETf7qbAhcH-OXHU4DH-30x8VdUZ4kuoPrOW-JHMj9FotzHiTpLCYIX48qVyrrtV4lcHmLHeOa_tq72Ii1MDD5QN7cxfq75VCJGCYUTMsMMY4jmVIoTflAqrlRaMvYWAaoHfUVQE3M/s1600/jetsons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOxETf7qbAhcH-OXHU4DH-30x8VdUZ4kuoPrOW-JHMj9FotzHiTpLCYIX48qVyrrtV4lcHmLHeOa_tq72Ii1MDD5QN7cxfq75VCJGCYUTMsMMY4jmVIoTflAqrlRaMvYWAaoHfUVQE3M/s320/jetsons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thomashawk/5860045516/">Courtesy Thomas Hawk - Flickr</a></div>
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It's taken me a few days to get around writing my first post of 2013. Some things are still sinking in.<br />
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2013. Lawdy. You people do realize that we're now living in the future, right? When I was in high school, we were assigned to write an essay about what our lives would be like in 2013. And the first sentence started with, "In the future, in the year 2013..." </div>
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Think about that for a second. </div>
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I know. That sure warrants a round of holy expletives!</div>
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Although, I'm used to confronting my age. For instance, in the late summer of 2009, I walked through Washington Square Park and witnessed all the new freshman moving in to the NYU dorms. I was struck with two frightening realities: 1) It has now been 20 years since I was one of them doing the same exact thing. 2) Most of these students were not yet born when I was doing the same exact thing. </div>
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Never mind weathering the announcements of all the various 20, 30 or 40-something anniversaries of <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/david-bowies-ziggy-stardust-gets-40th-anniversary-reissue-20120322">albums</a> and <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/04/the-princess-bride-25th-anniversary-cary-elwes_n_1939608.html">movies</a> I loved growing up. </div>
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So here we are now, in the future. I know you're wondering what I wrote in that essay, how I pictured my life in the future. I am going to disappoint you by saying that I don't remember most of it. And I no longer have it. I only know the year was definitely 2013, and that I mentioned something about having a young son who liked to steer the hovercraft. Ha! on both counts. </div>
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Well, my sixteen year-old self certainly couldn't have foreseen me living alone in Brooklyn with a giant cat and writing about booze, having developed a taste for fresh vegetables and fish, exercising regularly. Man, how I wish I could go back in time and tell her to learn to walk in heels...</div>
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But I'm pretty OK with the future so far. Events every single day of last week have served to remind me of all the wonderful people I've chosen to surround myself with, and what they bring to my life. I even got TWO New Year's Eves thanks to friends who decided to throw a re-do party just because. Yeah, we watched the ball drop again and had a midnight toast and everything. I'm so lucky to know people who would do that and invite me to do it with them. Although the next day I was regretting that last Dark n Stormy a little. Well, when in <a href="http://www.nybarfly.com/my_weblog/2009/02/review-the-rhum-rhum-room.html">Rhum</a>...</div>
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So cheers to the future people! Hovercraft, I hardly need ya. </div>
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winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-20901456719857772112012-12-28T13:15:00.005-05:002012-12-28T17:01:27.999-05:00Not All Of It Sucked<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheBXG5U0qodt8HyVO2kPTSY9rSz8dnv_iI2G49N_vlKJizTRFEj2Lp3bfgfeBM-YizqdFeFPSPkpAm7u2QGf-fBMD8Ij7CPDc-4ygaTOXSxsZHqhbz1ubA1MerkkzyF_OO29gRcucn4XY/s1600/fallinct.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheBXG5U0qodt8HyVO2kPTSY9rSz8dnv_iI2G49N_vlKJizTRFEj2Lp3bfgfeBM-YizqdFeFPSPkpAm7u2QGf-fBMD8Ij7CPDc-4ygaTOXSxsZHqhbz1ubA1MerkkzyF_OO29gRcucn4XY/s320/fallinct.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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One thing I do love is a solid tradition. One thing I hate is year end lists. The popular ones, like top movie lists, never seem to focus on anything that was released before October, anyway. They should really be called Top 10 Movies of the Year From October to December (subheading: Featuring Character Actors Doing Impressions of Defenseless Famous People.) Others seem perfunctory at best. (I mean, a Top list of spirits that only contains one kind of spirit and doesn't have anything new on it?)<br />
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But I digress...<br />
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Anyway, here's a little something I like to do each year, which I'm realizing is a great exercise in remembering to appreciate life. 2012 in particular was a doozy. I don't even have ten things about it to love (although I did eat, drink, see and hear some fabulous stuff, but that's not the point of this.) I'm not going to say it was bad. It just wasn't... whadya call it? Good. But some of the experiences I had I wouldn't trade for anything, and I'm thinking others will lend themselves to better times.<br />
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So it wasn't a total waste... Here we go!<br />
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9) The beverage and bartending community: I always knew you were my heroes. Then when communities were truly beaten down, you banded together all your contacts, assets and energy and <a href="http://www.shakestir.com/features/id/528/how-to-have-a-ball">used your super powers for the greater good</a>. And you still made delicious drinks when we needed them. Not to mention the ladies of LUPEC and events like <a href="http://insidefandb.com/2012/05/support-the-rack/">Speed Rack</a> and Broad Appeal that continue to raise funds for important causes and help us all have a blast doing it. I am in awe of you people.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlgswrdl_wKrEnup9691uAg_SljVS3PK_6ob5h2cGpM5CgHwnR9_5TWjtV9p04_oAGDe6NQbIx2OduozreM4UJyLsPXr5W7YOMmP6B4Fk9sCTPNf_yQHvzW5HgDgdWPltgNmsARmDYe4/s1600/McCoy-Wilson-Cirabisi-Ruotolo-Neff-Cisneros.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlgswrdl_wKrEnup9691uAg_SljVS3PK_6ob5h2cGpM5CgHwnR9_5TWjtV9p04_oAGDe6NQbIx2OduozreM4UJyLsPXr5W7YOMmP6B4Fk9sCTPNf_yQHvzW5HgDgdWPltgNmsARmDYe4/s320/McCoy-Wilson-Cirabisi-Ruotolo-Neff-Cisneros.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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photo courtesy Gabi Porter</div>
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8) <a href="http://www.talesofthecocktail.com/">Tales of the Cocktail</a>: Why did it take me three years to come back? It's about drinking cocktails, it's about making them. But take the heat and humidity of New Orleans in July, add colleagues and friends from all over the world, plus the character of the city itself and a dash of ancillary mischief, shake (or stir), and you have the greatest five-day <strike>bender</strike> cocktail of them all. I wouldn't have been able to go at all if it weren't for items 3 and 4 on this list.<br />
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7) Picking myself up, dusting off, moving on: Enough said.<br />
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6) Going to Jersey to see Alice Cooper and Iron Maiden: Seriously, some of the most fun I had all year. Sometimes an idea sounds better in a bar at 2am than in reality (although I still think we should produce that Sanford and Son musical someday.) But in this case, reality didn't disappoint. <a href="http://peachesplums.blogspot.com/2012/07/scream-for-me-new-jersey.html">We got the snake, the guillotine, Eddie and enough pyrotechnics to rival Number of The Beast himself</a>. Plus the most I've laughed in a car since... I can't even remember when. What a great show.<br />
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5) Bruce didn't get one of those awful fast-acting killer cat diseases: It was a 24-hour nail-biter that scared the crap out of me. His doctors (that wonderful Veterinarian couple who live in the basement apartment and agree to make housecalls, and had to wear those gloves they use <a href="http://www.mikesfalconry.com/category.asp?grp=79">to handle birds of prey</a> in order to take blood) prepared me for the worst. He was sick, weak and confused. Then next morning, he just woke up and carried on being the agile, willful, always-hungry, nudgy, sheddy bastard I've known and loved for the past nearly twelve years. However many lives you have left, Brucie. Make them count.<br />
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4) New friends: I made some great ones this year, who I think have some pretty serious sticking power. I'm so happy to have met you. You know who you are. (<a href="http://jackfrombrooklyn.com/">Especially the one who stalked me on Twitter till I tasted his delicious liqueur and wrote about it.</a>)<br />
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3) Old friends: Never forgotten. You guys have been amazing. You drive me <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXydX9p_ZxA">crazy-go-nuts </a>sometimes, but I probably do that to you too and you're still here. For some reason.<br />
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2) My parents: They're on the list every year, and there's a reason for that. They're kind of awesome and put up with a lot. I'm very lucky. And it was their 50th wedding anniversary this year!<br />
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I'm still convinced sometimes that I was switched at the hospital. Probably with some other baby who is now a successful physician or lawyer or rocket scientist with three kids and a loving husband. But I like to think they'd rather have me anyway.<br />
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1) <a href="http://peachesplums.blogspot.com/2012/10/28-years-later.html">I met John Taylor</a>!!!! Holy shit. I met John Taylor.<br />
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So now what? Surprise me, 2013! Happy New Year, everyone!<br />
<br />winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-37668716657557782282012-12-20T12:37:00.000-05:002013-01-05T10:45:59.791-05:00Things I'm Fine With Ending Tomorrow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So December 21st, 2012 is almost here. Apparently the Mayans couldn't conceive of a world that lived past that expiration date, so according to their calendar (which, incidentally, could not possibly be synced to ours in any tangible capacity), the apocalypse is tomorrow. Who can blame them? When I was a kid, 12/21/12 was unfathomable. Forever. I never thought I'd get here.<br />
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Wow, so I've lived forever. Well, if the world ends tomorrow, I am so OK with it. I've traveled great parts of the world. I've met wonderful people. I've loved. I've lost. And loved again. And lost again. Even last week I ate and drank some pretty fabulous stuff. I've probably lived half of my life expectancy anyway. The rest is just hot flashes, wrinkles and sitting down at reunion concerts.<br />
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There's a lot of stuff I'd be happy to have erased from the planet if we really do sink into the primordial ooze tomorrow. Here's a list:<br />
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10) David Bowie covers. Hey, I'm actually a huge fan of a cover song when done correctly. The Violent Femmes version of "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3tQKozJHgw">Do You Really Want to Hurt Me</a>" is genius in its change of tempo and slight lyrical diversion from Culture Club's (plus Boy George himself has praised its originality.) The English Beat's "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VY98T36ZC60">Tears of a Clown</a>" takes the Smokey Robinson original, speeds it up, and somehow makes it more melancholy and joyful at the same time while staying completely respectful of the source material. And who doesn't love a <a href="http://www.letsmaketragedyhappen.com/videos.html">heavy metal version of a Bee Gees disco song</a>? But seriously. No one who can improve on David Bowie. There is no way you can capture the bleak desperation of a mid-1970s Berlin studio in the midst of a horrendous coke addiction and make it sound as haunting and poignant as he did. Nothing will sound as spectacular as that guitar crunch of the Ziggy days, or the strangely forgivable Teutonic pop style of a 1980s hit like "China Girl." You can't pull it off. So stop. Stop it right now. Except Bauhaus. You did OK with"<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6n0Fq0jsh08">Ziggy Stardust</a>." But that's only because Peter Murphy was even skinnier than David Bowie when it was recorded and that lack of nourishment rings true. Bowie is still better though.<br />
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9) Hair removal. I have no idea how I grow hair as quickly as I do. I've made the joke that I was switched at birth with an Irish Catholic family. But now I'm realizing it was <a href="http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Wookiee">wookies</a>. Shaving, waxing, depilatories, lasers - hell, I don't even think NASA has the technology to make my lower back hair disappear for more than 48 hours. Too much information? I don't care anymore. We're all going to die tomorrow anyway.<br />
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8) Bar and restaurant narcissism. Oh, good for you! You have a table at that place that doesn't take reservations and costs more for dinner than I make in a week! Fuck you. I'm going to eat at the place I know for a fact will be delicious, at a time when grown New York City adults, not octogenarian Floridians, eat the last meal of the day. Plus I am pretty sure I can return for something I truly crave. If I want bacon, I'll eat bacon. Not an icy gas that approximates the flavors of bacon. That goes for cocktails too. I'm broke. I just want to drink somewhere fun and dependable where I know I will have a good drink and enjoy it. If I am smooshed in with fifty other people, can't hang my coat anywhere, and paying $16 for the privilege of drinking yet another Manhattan riff? Trust me. I am not having fun.<br />
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7) Second round job interviews when the employer has no intention of hiring me. You made the decision the moment I walked in your door. Probably had someone younger and more affordable in mind in the first place. Stop wasting my time.<br />
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6) Debt. I pretty much don't have a dime to my name anymore and honestly, no intention or ability to pay this all back. Go on. Take me. It's all Monopoly money at this point. OK, maybe leave some of the booze in case I'm only mortally wounded first.<br />
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5) Brooklyn neighborhoods on their own axis, with no direct subway lines from anywhere useful. Since the earth is shifting, can't we just line everything up so transportation works all over the city? D train, I'm talking to you.<br />
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4) At least that ten minute trailer for <a href="http://www.lesmiserablesfilm.com/">Les Miserables</a> will go away now. Whether or not we all die. I dreamed a dream actors like you would stop singing. While we're at it. Hey, Hugh? We're not buying it. Any of it. Notable mention: Gwyneth Paltrow, who must not only stop singing, <a href="http://goop.com/">but pretending she can cook too</a>.<br />
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3) Moveon.org emails. You're right, and I appreciate what you do and stand for. Congress is a mess. No one is listening to each other. No one is getting anything accomplished. Health care <i>is</i> ridiculously expensive. People who thrive on negative attention will continue to say terrible things about women, homosexuals and immigrants. We all know our system is broken. You don't have to keep pointing that out. Every. Other. Hour.<br />
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2) Using your child's image for your Facebook profile picture. If my father had done that when I was three I would have been mortified. I know you think it's cute. Some of your kids are actually, kind of adorable. But I'm friends with YOU, not your infant son or daughter. That's just creepy. Especially when you post stuff about drinking or politics. Your dog? Even a decades younger version of yourself? Well, if you must.<br />
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1) Speaking of... doing terrible things to and in front of children. I know I haven't said much about what happened last week. But if the world ends and people don't shoot children in front of other children anymore that would be great. Because this can't continue. Those horrific images will never wash away. I mean, I am forever damaged merely from being accosted by a mime in Paris when I was 15. I can't begin to comprehend what it would have been like to see my best friend and teacher murdered in front of me before I turn 8, and have to trust someone to convince me to enter a class room again. Make new friends. Swing on a tire in a playground. Have conversations. I can't. I just can't. That would be a great thing to stop happening. Yes, please.<br />
<br />winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-69611462381578730092012-12-19T09:20:00.001-05:002012-12-19T09:25:36.505-05:00Resolve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExGAK3NCPWhYKJpPYPkttjWhvBP_lP2Me9za19oAmgCRr_qK7ejtB6_YJYINUMSjMCAx6_X9KTM-oKJGPz3G-auKYbQ6pSIU7Kx6Hqd6yEfufW1xE-jAGma-EDoHi0jYO-bGbs6WTJsM/s1600/December+31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExGAK3NCPWhYKJpPYPkttjWhvBP_lP2Me9za19oAmgCRr_qK7ejtB6_YJYINUMSjMCAx6_X9KTM-oKJGPz3G-auKYbQ6pSIU7Kx6Hqd6yEfufW1xE-jAGma-EDoHi0jYO-bGbs6WTJsM/s320/December+31.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
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I'm not sure about the rest of you, but I'm pretty serious when it comes to New Year's resolutions. </div>
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Which is why I'm sorry to announce that this year, I didn't entirely stick to mine. </div>
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Sort of. </div>
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For those of you who've known me for a while, you might remember that 2011 was a huge year for me, wherein I stuck to everything I set out to do: I lost nearly forty pounds. I revived my writing career. I completed a graduate marketing certification I never really wanted to start in the first place. </div>
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I had spent so much time and energy pushing myself in those twelve months that by the time the year was over and I didn't have to write a stupid marketing paper every week, my newly skinny-er ass self needed a project. </div>
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So with a little prompting from my brother-once-removed, my resolution for 2012 was to write an entire book in a year. At least get it all written out with room for revisions. </div>
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It's about resolutions. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HQg9Pg5mZm8zUk2amozWXlSKkPce2QarGFtiG7eTHOeGNrfXga0NM3sKyQmCdwzkFesdUgG6thJ8GstE3ajRlCqUszpjHqJ5KspvkRuEdbXp2CyNSye0RhGCVpwl7YFphk0jhUMnkSw/s1600/woman+typing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HQg9Pg5mZm8zUk2amozWXlSKkPce2QarGFtiG7eTHOeGNrfXga0NM3sKyQmCdwzkFesdUgG6thJ8GstE3ajRlCqUszpjHqJ5KspvkRuEdbXp2CyNSye0RhGCVpwl7YFphk0jhUMnkSw/s320/woman+typing.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The goal was to write a collection of twelve short stories about people with, well, a goal. Some of them are your garden variety resolutions, but others are more complex and figurative. After a few of the stories came out, the book began to fall into a structure where I realized I could connect the characters with one larger narrative. By March I knew I was writing a novel. I wanted to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfFunjzyIsE">write a little of it everyday</a>, even for just a few minutes. </div>
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However, by June, I was starting to worry. I was making the time to write, but the stories weren't coming to me as quickly as they had been. I found myself getting stuck, or re-writing the same story several times before I could make peace with its voice, plot and style. I became severely self-critical. I was falling behind on the schedule I'd set for myself. </div>
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Then after a few strings of bad luck this year on several fronts (no need to go into what happened, but it's been a whole lotta no fun, with plenty of anxiety to fill the voids left by Good Times and Prosperity), I was feeling less motivated to write. And I was beating myself up over it. </div>
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Many of you know I'm not a religious person. An astrologer told me years ago that my biggest problem in life is lack of faith, but she didn't mean that in a religious sense. She meant myself. I give up too easily. Or conversely, I hold on to things because I want them to work so badly, I refuse to give in to them when they don't. And you thought <a href="http://www.cartoonnetwork.com/tv_shows/tomjerry/video/gone-fishing-clip.html">Tom and Jerry</a> liked to have at each other? </div>
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Crap. I guess I really am a <a href="http://horoscopes.lovetoknow.com/Gemini_Traits">Gemini</a>. </div>
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Well, here we are with less than two weeks left in the year. I didn't finish writing the book. </div>
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And that's... OK. I completed enough of it that I'd be forever tormented if I didn't finish the whole thing. Which is why I'm finally telling you. I'm going to finish the book, just not the way and when I thought I would. That's the trouble with resolutions sometimes, after all. </div>
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Give me till Easter. </div>
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2013 has some pretty rockin' resolutions too. But I can't tell you about them yet. Better I just do them. </div>
winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-46166882338880935542012-12-03T14:33:00.000-05:002012-12-06T11:19:49.389-05:00The Fetal Position: In a Glass!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJ6EeOd3fzhoTumLtY9QJtwviUCLpQ8nl9RtJNNReGg_edETROZfKfi4gL3yBCMS2PL_VAruThqkxk1enit2Rt1AKDEh7JsDBHujwH3-N2edMoVoACQJehUygDPOyXF6lECHU36hAPeA/s1600/fetal+position.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJ6EeOd3fzhoTumLtY9QJtwviUCLpQ8nl9RtJNNReGg_edETROZfKfi4gL3yBCMS2PL_VAruThqkxk1enit2Rt1AKDEh7JsDBHujwH3-N2edMoVoACQJehUygDPOyXF6lECHU36hAPeA/s320/fetal+position.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Last month, when the outcome of the election was still looking quite precarious, a friend of mine tweeted: "The fetal position is very underrated."<br />
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Luckily, for whatever reason, may that be the reality of climate change, Governor <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/post-politics/wp/2012/10/30/chris-christie-obama-outstanding-in-response-to-hurricane-sandy/">Chris Christie</a>, or hey, overall common sense prevailing (for once), the election turned out OK.<br />
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December is now in full swing. We're decking the halls, we're donning our gay apparel, in the age of bespoke everything, I'm willing to bet some hipster crafter somewhere is attempting to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Have_a_Little_Dreidel">make little dreidels out of clay</a> and selling them for $19.99 a pop once they're dry and ready. Thanksgiving came early this year, and I've already attended three holiday themed parties. Wasn't it just a few days ago we were in the pointy hats shooting streamers and hoping for better times?<br />
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I'm so over it already. Yeah, <a href="http://www.tulsaworld.com/news/article.aspx?subjectid=206&articleid=20121202_206_A19_Saturd424671">Mayan Calendar</a>, do your thing. Screw it. I met <a href="http://peachesplums.blogspot.com/2012/10/28-years-later.html">John Taylor.</a> The rest is just gravy, as far as I'm concerned. Come. And. Get. Me.<br />
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It's been quite a while since I've made up a new cocktail. Today, I was thinking about that fetal position comment, and about how nice it would be to just curl up into one for the rest of the day.<br />
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Instead, I decided it would be far more useful to create (a metaphorical) one you can drink! My idea was to combine all the most comforting ingredients I could think of in one glass. The boozy equivalent of a hug. So, ladies and germs, for you, a wee gifty:<br />
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The Fetal Position<br />
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1 1/2 oz straight rye<br />
1/2 oz <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/post-politics/wp/2012/10/30/chris-christie-obama-outstanding-in-response-to-hurricane-sandy/">Sorel hibiscus liqueur</a><br />
1/2 oz Calvados or other apple brandy<br />
1/2 oz lemon juice<br />
bar spoon good maple syrup<br />
1 egg white<br />
<a href="http://www.brooklynbitters.com/">Brooklyn Hemispherical Bitters Black Mission Fig</a><br />
brandied cherries (optional, but you know you want them)<br />
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Combine first six ingredients in a shaker with ice. Shake well to combine. Strain into a chilled coupe or cocktail glass. Add a few drops of the bitters and swirl with a toothpick. Add the cherries. Yeah. Just let 'em sink to the bottom along with your hopes and dreams.<br />
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You'll feel better in a minute. Ready to conquer the world again.<br />
<br />winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-18239461615058138052012-11-21T18:32:00.000-05:002012-11-21T18:34:09.184-05:00Champagne Taste-Off<br />
There's quite a lot to that saying about appreciating what you have.<br />
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Just as the ground beneath New York City's collective <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/2300-201_162-10014439.html">feet finally rumbled back into action</a> and it was time to get out there and support beloved downtown businesses who had been shuttered due to Sandy, I got good and sick. For me, this is thankfully a rare occurrence. But when it happens, it happens real good. In the beginning, they called Hurricane Sandy the Frankenstorm. Well, this was the Frankenplague - sore throat turned to sinusitis turned to bronchitis. By Election Day, lying down felt like drowning. We take the ease of breathing in and out far too much for granted. The raspy cough that felt like my chest was awash in <a href="http://www.pop-rocks.com/">Pop Rocks</a> lasted nearly two weeks.<br />
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I think my senses are still trying to regenerate. Most troubling for me is that my taste buds are not nearly as sharp as they were before I got sick. Flavors feel pixillated. I ate ramen with so much chili oil, it burned my lips as I slurped and left a pink ring around them for the day, but I barely tasted the heat on my tongue. I felt the need to add so much salt to my bowl of chickpea and spinach stew that I could be sold with a PRE-BRINED label. Last Saturday night, I couldn't taste the acid in the tomato sauce on my pizza, which made me want to cry. Then there was the Champagne.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8WrKhOqvUZEc6Y0KJ3mpuONyDl9Q4P2g1JK9bGw_3gp5I7_fleBlei6uiXIZR1zmeBJX_-JzImrNrFMJ-2dFCh_U6N5Pe6qF7n3w-tr9ECdOptqG4TVzV9tw7SSQNhJ0CZhrN5tkdS8/s1600/champ+glasses.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8WrKhOqvUZEc6Y0KJ3mpuONyDl9Q4P2g1JK9bGw_3gp5I7_fleBlei6uiXIZR1zmeBJX_-JzImrNrFMJ-2dFCh_U6N5Pe6qF7n3w-tr9ECdOptqG4TVzV9tw7SSQNhJ0CZhrN5tkdS8/s320/champ+glasses.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Last Monday, <a href="http://www.ewswine.com/social/">Executive Wine Seminars</a>, or EWS, put together a blind tasting of 13 non-vintage releases. I was excited by the prospect, not only to taste that many bubblys side by side, but to have the opportunity once and for all settle the score between what are known as Grower Producers (think of them as the indie rockers of the big bad Champagne world, they do everything themselves) vs. the Big Guys (meaning, the big name, iconic, corporate Champagne houses who outsource most of their grapes and mass produce their wine.) Those of us in the know have championed the grower producers for their finesse, flavor structure, individual style and for the most part, approachable price range. Corporate Champagne has the stigma of appeasing the masses, often sacrificing structure for bold, standout flavors at a huge markup. Many wine snobs say they detect in them a syrupy finish due to what are probably high amounts of dosage (sugar mixed with wine that according to law is allowed to be added to Champagnes after secondary fermentation to bring up sweetness levels) and really frothy bubbles. I'm sorry, "mousse."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiepZpNz9QRKIUzeyQHGfSp_WRC-5drxJPtRYsWTrgoDEvIk9SkuYhIfWbMvOWxXfpbAUFPhylM2SF_NSLQ518QWuflXDD17oUjHaUIYNsrIS2rmUvNd7ytsE1d6dglaqcbSJFeBRj9TQA/s1600/champs+bagged.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiepZpNz9QRKIUzeyQHGfSp_WRC-5drxJPtRYsWTrgoDEvIk9SkuYhIfWbMvOWxXfpbAUFPhylM2SF_NSLQ518QWuflXDD17oUjHaUIYNsrIS2rmUvNd7ytsE1d6dglaqcbSJFeBRj9TQA/s320/champs+bagged.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We knew which wines we were drinking, but not the order in which they were being poured. Each one was covered in a brown paper bag with a number written on it. Years ago, this worked beautifully for the 2005 vintage of <a href="http://www.wine-searcher.com/regions-chateauneuf-du-pape">Chateauneuf du Pape</a>. In a blind tasting, we all favored the smaller producers. The wines who had received high scores from all the famous reviewers, l<a href="http://www.foodandwine.com/articles/a-crush-on-chateauneuf-du-pape">ike Robert Parker</a>, and drove herds of people to snatch them up for triple their worth without even tasting them for themselves, left everyone at our tasting cold, <b>without knowing which ones they were till the end</b>. It made me happy. Score for the underdogs which were being sold at a more appropriate price point.<br />
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Robert Millman (a former colleague at Morrell) and Howard Kaplan, who run the tastings for EWS, have a motto: "We take wine seriously, but not too seriously." This isn't necessarily true of the people who take part in the tastings, but like the choices in their lineups, it's a fun mixed bag. Old, young, male, female and in the words of Rudy Ray Moore as <a href="http://buncheness.blogspot.com/2008/10/dolemite-youd-be-dead-muthafukka-rip.html">Dolomite</a> - "...uptown, downtown, crowned and renowned." (The part where we relay, delay, mislay and parlay comes later.) We taste the wines in small groups, write notes, then discuss.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTRyQPmB1YeEaEMXYNbkROtGkIVSN7CEWrJg67LqPdl1HaWeaw2rHn22kxajs0Ozwh0MjJH2xFpJUwSEeLP3peVEgpMeIjpdHDxbeFswgZLt9qsV0rdW0wm9RcTqLiSnGImWr78z23_U/s1600/champs+bagged+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTRyQPmB1YeEaEMXYNbkROtGkIVSN7CEWrJg67LqPdl1HaWeaw2rHn22kxajs0Ozwh0MjJH2xFpJUwSEeLP3peVEgpMeIjpdHDxbeFswgZLt9qsV0rdW0wm9RcTqLiSnGImWr78z23_U/s320/champs+bagged+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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What was really interesting about this Champagne tasting, apart from the selection, was the huge difference in opinion between the tasters, divided among gender and generation, possibly where we lived too. It was immediately decided that the drier bubblys <i>had</i> to be the growers. Any detection of fruit or sweetness in the finish meant dosage, surely only the big guys do that. But can't that also be attributed to which grapes are used? More Pinot Meunier/Pinot Noir often makes a drier, toastier product. Chardonnay can have inherent caramel apple flavors, nothing wrong with that. Just depends on what's done with them.<br />
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The men were definitely going for the drier wines, which to me (and my Mom, who happened to be seated next to me) didn't taste like much. The same wine that an older gentleman in the group said had flavors of "ginger beer and rice pudding" to me tasted super acidic and gassy. Mom said it was even "crying out for Zantac." The women were responding more to the wines that had stronger backbone- fruit, toast, nuts, spice and citrus zing, hitting all parts of the tongue. The men seemed happier when it was more about just the toastiness and yeast. The younger people in the group liked the wines that seemed more edgy and spicy. One of the women brought her poodle to the tasting. By the way, he yapped when that guy said that thing about the rice pudding.<br />
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I love Champagne, but so many of these fell flat for me. It could have been palate fatigue, and we were eating very strong cheese on the side, which didn't match with any of them too well. Maybe it had been so long since I had to evaluate wine this way that I was a little rusty. But something seemed off. Many of these were wines I'd tasted before, but they weren't making me happy anymore. Champagne is about celebration and living the good life. But I noticed a lot of subjective opinions were being dismissed as amateur. We were forming ourselves into tribes, and any second there would be war. It felt like all the Champagne fun was deflating as carbonation died in our warming glasses.<br />
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Reveal the wines already.<br />
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Here was the lineup:<br />
1. Pierre Peters Blanc de Blancs Brute Cuvée Reserve<br />
2. Veuve Cliquot Brut Yellow Label<br />
3. Gaston Chiquet Brut Tradition<br />
4. Louis Roederer Brut Premier<br />
5. Ployez-Jacquemart Extra Quality Brut<br />
6. Jean Lallement Brut<br />
7. Boillinger Brut Special Cuvée<br />
8. Marc Hébrart brut Cuvée de Réserve<br />
9. G.H. Mumm Brut Cordon Rouge<br />
10. A. Margaine Le Brut<br />
11. Egly-Ouriet Brut Tradition<br />
12. Pol Roger Brute Reserve<br />
13. Laurent-Perrier Brut<br />
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The big winners? #3: Mumm #2: Roger #1: Laurent-Perrier<br />
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WTF? None of the growers in the crowd favorites?<br />
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Something is definitely wrong here.<br />
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Here's my theory, and yes, I am admitting my tasting capabilities are not up to their usual snuff: First of all, one of the things we say we love about grower Champagnes is subtlety and structure. So when going up against a <i>père gros</i> of a bubbly, they could easily have gotten lost. The other is, well, gasp!, maybe some of those famous labels are popular for a reason? When I was coming up in the retail wine world, I was very pleased to have the folks at L-P take us out for the holidays where they showcased the major players of their portfolio with really excellent Italian food. Hey, no one was complaining!<br />
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Still, on the rare occasions I buy Champagne, I almost always go for one of the lesser known labels and probably still will.<br />
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I don't know, maybe we need a rematch?<br />
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Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Hope it tastes amazing.<br />
<br />winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-64813397972519882542012-11-01T15:59:00.000-04:002012-11-01T17:28:03.623-04:00Oh, Sandy.<br />
At first, the notion of the Halloween "Frankenstorm," a hybrid of tropical storm, hurricane and Nor'easter, with wind, rain and even a freak snow storm, was somewhat of a joke. But not funny as in ha ha. As it pushed ever closer to the Tri-State Area by the weekend, the news agencies quit their Frankenstorm coverage, and focused on Sandy - a colossal, slow-moving hurricane that had the potential to be one of the most powerful to hit the East Coast since... well, since the last time the news agencies hyped a major storm a year ago with <a href="http://fivethirtyeight.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/08/29/how-irene-lived-up-to-the-hype/">Irene</a>. Except this one was different. Sandy was badass. Hitting at the full moon and highest tides, lusty and gusty, she wasn't taking any prisoners. Sure, <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/28/hurricane-sandy-meets-grease-picture_n_2034422.html">people still made the jokes</a>. But we got it. Take precautions. This one is for real.<br />
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You could physically see it coming.<br />
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<b>SUNDAY October 28th:</b> My dear friend Stephanie, who is moving back to Texas in a matter of days, came to stay with me once the precautionary <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/28/mta-shutdown-hurricane-sandy-subway-cuomo_n_2034337.html">MTA shutdown </a>was announced. We were supposed to have a farewell wine dinner with my parents and friends that night. Instead I went into Manhattan earlier to see them, and they generously sent me home with a ration of short ribs and some excellent vino. While the ribs slowly baked to deliciousness, we had time to visit Tim at <a href="http://thejakewalk.com/">Jakewalk,</a> who introduced me to my first Palo Cortado sherry. </div>
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They were open for drinks, but no food. Like the MTA, many restaurants and bars were starting their own shutdowns, with only a handful of brave businesses, like our friends at <a href="http://www.examiner.com/article/new-york-city-bars-reopen-the-wake-of-hurricane-sandy">Ward III in Tribeca</a>, willing to ride it out for the duration using whatever supplies and resources would be available. </div>
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The ribs came out perfectly. The wine was delicious. The Riders of the Storm would begin this ordeal all classy like and civilized, and rather cozy. By bedtime, the wind had picked up, but still no rain. </div>
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<b>MONDAY October 29th: </b>Awoke to a spritzy rain and stronger wind, but nothing too dramatic. Last-minute rations could still be obtained by businesses that were still open (most with dedicated staff who were driven in by managers.) We watched Steve McQueen in his seductive prime in the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0059037/">Cincinatti Kid</a> and made fresh popcorn made with the popper I still had dating back to freshman year at NYU. </div>
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We would take storm update breaks during movie-watching. The wind was picking up. Reports of a flooded Battery Park and rising waters in Alphabet City. Texts and Facebook/Twitter posts from friends who were warned Con Ed might be shutting off their power downtown. An evacuated Red Hook was also reportedly flooding badly, as was the Gowanus. In Cobble Hill, the lights barely flickered. As the chili simmered, we watched <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0115639/">Beautiful Girls</a> to satisfy our rom com cravings.<br />
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A last call to my parents, who still hadn't quite taken the threat of an outage too seriously. I got them to fill the bathtub, gather the flashlights and few candles they had. I guess if things got dire, they would finally consume the bouillon cubes they'd kept since the Nixon administration and moved with at least three times. I scolded them for not preparing better. </div>
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The wind would lash, the lights would flicker more often, the cable and wi-fi went out but we still had power. We listened to music. Busted out the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jewish-Games-Kosherland-Board-Game/dp/B000BSXXCS">Kosherland</a> (land me on the Milk/Meat pass, bitch!). Got bored of that and learned Gin Rummy all over again, killing two of my Scotches that were down to a few fingers each - the Cadenhead's Pittyvaich-Glenlivet 23 year and Longmorn 12 Year. The lights stayed on as <a href="http://www.nekocase.com/news/index.html">Neko Case's</a> angel-throated voice played in the background. We were up drinking Scotch and playing cards till 3:30 like a couple of biddies. </div>
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<b>TUESDAY October 30th: </b>Spritzy out, but the worst of it is over. Subways are flooded and won't be back up for days, schools are closed till further notice. Downtown south of 34th St. is in total darkness. A few blocks north, lights are on, businesses are regrouping. South of that it's like the stark aftermath of a modern <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Visigoths">visigoth</a> invasion, people desperate for more supplies and device-charging stations. Widespread damage in CT and NJ. Governor Christie concerned, authoritative and brilliant in his press conference. Mayor Bloomberg and his hardworking <a href="http://signlanguagelady.tumblr.com/">sign translator</a> up next (as was the obligatory statement in what passed for <a href="https://twitter.com/ElBloombito">Spanish</a>.) The <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/infocus/2012/10/hurricane-sandy-after-landfall/100396/?fb_action_ids=10151210961388672&fb_action_types=og.recommends&fb_source=aggregation&fb_aggregation_id=288381481237582">striking images </a> and blackout theories were hitting the interwebs. The news agencies shifted from "<a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/national/archive/2012/10/the-case-against-sending-tv-reporters-out-in-hurricanes/264281/?fb_action_ids=10151210973388672&fb_action_types=og.recommends&fb_source=aggregation&fb_aggregation_id=288381481237582">weather experts" out in the elements</a> to aftermath, cleanup and "devastation." (You could play a drinking game based on that word in the media this week.) The <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/hurricane-sandy-death-toll-reaches-74-article-1.1195335">horrendous true stories of freak storm-related accidents</a> were streaming in. Sandy was a mean one. </div>
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In Cobble Hill, Tuesday is the new Saturday, and cabin fever has set in. Everyone is out for a stroll looking for food, drink and community. We meet up with Emily at the Waterfront Ale house on Atlantic. The wonderful Mary holding down the fort behind the bar till their chef Ralph arrives to fire up the kitchen. Neighborhood families and friends were filling up the place. Hours later, food is finally served. Best pulled pork sandwich ever. </div>
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We go home to nap and recharge, then set out again. Jeff's at <a href="http://charno4.com/">Char No. 4</a>, and Julia joins our little group. We sit at the window watching Smith Street de-Sandyfy. Texts from Jason, who is in the blackout zone, and wants to join the fun, not to mention camp out with power and hot water. We head down the street to <a href="http://www.cloverclubny.com/">Clover Club</a>, where proprietor Julie Reiner herself is bussing tables and pitching in. A quick hello to Caitlin of <a href="http://becomingbklyn.com/">Becoming Brooklyn </a>at the bar. Jason and Julia's husband, Nick, join us at our table up front. Time for some Harvest Punch. </div>
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We go back to my place and play more Kosherland, ushering in Halloween with Jason's playlist, bust out the cards for Feudal Wars. More fun and late night storm-induced silliness.<br />
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No word from my parents all day, which is odd. These are people who would borrow a cell phone on a normal day to tell me about a play they'd just seen or a good piece of steak. I begin to worry a little and regret scolding them so harshly. </div>
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A little after 2 am, I receive a text from a man I'd been seeing for a while who has become a good friend. We had heard the terrible story of a y<a href="http://gothamist.com/2012/10/31/young_couple_killed_by_falling_tree.php">oung woman and her boyfriend who were killed by a fallen tree in Ditmas Park</a> while walking their dog in the storm. It turns out my friend had gotten to know Jessie Streich-Kest over the past few months, and just learned she had been the one in the accident. My friend had likely been the last one to text her, even warning her to be careful of the trees. </div>
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The world can be a cruel place elsewhere when you're having fun. </div>
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<b>WEDNESDAY, October 31st: </b>With Flatbush Avenue and all routes into Manhattan at a standstill, looks like my storm refugees are around another day. We go down to Lobo to see Janell and get some breakfast. It's busy and chaotic. None of the staff has had a chance to eat or get coffee since they can't tie up the kitchen who need to churn out grub for customers. I ran out to get Janell a bacon, egg and cheese and coffee for anyone who wanted it. Rude, impatient customers are giving people a hard time. Come on. Really? Everyone needs to work at least one day in a service industry and understand what it's like. Especially in the event of natural distasters and holidays.<br />
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I finally hear from my dad in the afternoon, after he purchased a new cell phone that worked. Hard to stay in touch since service is spotty and he doesn't yet have the hang of it, but we can communicate eventually. At this point, I had terrible images of them cramped on the floor with food poisoning, so happy to hear they are alive and well and made dinner reservations for days to come.<br />
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It's not exactly a zombie apocalypse outside, but the streets are teaming with slow-moving walkers. Because Halloween wasn't canceled in Cobble Hill after all. Trick or treat!<br />
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<b>THURSDAY, November 1st:</b> Subway service is running at a limited capacity for free. No trains into Manhattan, but within Brooklyn and shuttle buses doing the rest. Finally have some time to myself to work out, eat healthier food, do some writing.<br />
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I keep thinking about my friend who lost someone in the storm. Everyone who has been bucking up under the circumstances. People rushing to help others, donate, volunteer, clean up. While some things don't make sense (they couldn't postpone the NY Marathon and leave streets open to the buses, cars and pedestrians that are already backed up as it is???), it's been heartening to see this city come together so beautifully and so quickly.<br />
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I consider myself extremely fortunate to live where I do, in a zone that was hardly affected and rife with community spirit and hardworking local staffers everywhere. I was so happy to have a comfortable home where friends could stay, and plenty of supplies for eating, drinking and entertainment. Life is good, y'all. Things have been a <b>whole</b> lot worse.<br />
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Hugs.<br />
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Please consider donating to the Jessie Streich-Kest Fund in her memory by following this <a href="http://www.youcaring.com/fundraiser_details?url=jessiestreichkestfund&fundraiser_id=12798">link</a>. </div>
winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-73180844027000389662012-10-17T09:27:00.000-04:002012-10-19T09:32:53.822-04:0028 Years Later<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://www.duranduran.com/wordpress/">They were the biggest band in the world</a>. And for a while, I didn't care.<br />
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Then suddenly I did.<br />
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And I "cared" more than was humanly necessary.<br />
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On October 16th, 2012, I finally met the man whose image plastered my bedroom walls (and ceiling), dropped in on my dreams, thrilled my fantasies and much later, peppered my otherwise boozy Twitter feed. John Taylor, bass player for Duran Duran.<br />
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Now, I know waiting on line for hours in a book store to meet an aging rock star sounds silly. Haven't I grown up already?<br />
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The answer is yes, and sometimes I think maybe even too much.<br />
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We forget sometimes before the Internet and YouTube, nostalgia couldn't be instantly gratified. When I was thirteen, before my family even got a cable subscription or owned a VCR, seeing an image or hearing a piece of music still had a fatalistic thrill, because I never knew when it would come on again. I'd wait for hours to hear/see it again, transfixed and shutting out the rest of the world when my patience finally paid off. The first time I saw a Duran Duran video, and caught a glimpse of that cute skinny guy with the square chin and bleached bangs, I felt as though I'd just found something I'd never known I'd lost. Or maybe I lost something I didn't know I had. Either way, something within me changed, and never really changed back after all these years. I had to keep seeing and hearing. When I read more about this person who presented himself, despite his vast fame, style and riches as a highly articulate, artsy, thoughtful and slightly dorky man with a love of F. Scott Fitzgerald (because of him I'd read <i>This Side of Paradise</i> by age 14) and a James Bond obsession, the crush was in full effect. He was different than the others. I liked different. BONUS, I found out we share a birthday! And we're both only children.<br />
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Clearly, thousands (possibly millions?) of other people felt the same way I did. Today I even met another fan only two people in front of me on the line who shares the same birthday. Also born in 1971, which means on the very exact day as me. Drat. So much for being different.<br />
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So in the midst of a massive world tour with the band, JT somehow found the time to write a book (he's actually an excellent writer, judging by his <a href="http://www.duranduran.com/wordpress/2011/18329/">blog posts</a>.) Part of the book-signing junket would be i<a href="http://store-locator.barnesandnoble.com/author-events/John-Taylor/50056467">n my city for one day</a>, in the middle of a busy week. My thirteen year old self would have punched me in the throat with her slave bracelets if I hadn't found a way to go. Wasn't the time I saw him on Lafayette Street a few years back, or the Twitter conversation <b>where he actually Tweeted me back</b> enough of an encounter?<br />
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Bitch, please. My only fear was that no matter how early I got there (no thanks to the MTA), I'd be turned away.<br />
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Or worse, simultaneously sneeze and puke if I got within a few feet of him. When I heard the excited screams of the crowd (almost entirely women. Guess the gays have better day jobs.), and caught a glimpse of that familiar smiling face, the scarf, the spiky brown hair, walking toward his place at the signing table, this got very real for me. I actually had to steady myself and take a few deep breaths. I began to question if I could keep my cool. Then I got <i>too</i> cold. Then too warm. Shivery sweats at the mere sight of him, knowing he was in the same room? As <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2009/jan/13/golden-globes-katewinslet">Kate Winslet would say, "Gather..."</a><br />
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The line snaked through the stacks of books - past Self Help, past Spirituality, past Nutrition, past <i>Cincuenta Sombras de Grey,</i> <i>Fifty Shades of Grey</i> in Spanish (how many Spanish words are there for "manhood"?) We turned the corner. And there he was...<br />
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But I did OK.<br />
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I even made him smile once.<br />
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I did a lot of smiling too. I'm still smiling.<br />
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"Gemini Girl." Sigh.<br />
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Hell, maybe there's a reason I've had a little, ahem, extra free time lately. At the age of thirteen, I couldn't have fathomed the kinds of responsibilities I would have (or even, not have) at the age of 41. As this election season has proven, the world is indeed a volatile, scary place (am I just a "binder" to you?) Nothing has turned out the way I thought it would. In some ways, maybe that's a good thing. I like knowing the girl in me still is still kicking around.<br />
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Special thanks to Nicole for waiting in line with me and talking me down. And making sure I don't have lipstick on my teeth.winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-37119607333453917012012-10-05T09:48:00.001-04:002012-10-05T09:48:13.215-04:00Camp Whiskey Back In Session!<br />
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Fall is here and it's time to get back in the groove! Sorry for the long silence. September was all about tending the coals and now that it's October, time to get things fired up!<br />
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Can't think of a better way to start than meeting up with the Camp Whiskey folks again. After a short late summer break, Jeff, Gary and Jonathan have assembled a roster of impressive drams fall!<br />
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On a schvitzy October night (competing with the Presidential Campaign Debates on full blast upstairs), we gathered in the basement bar of the <a href="http://www.countingroom.com/">Counting Room</a> in Williamsburg for this week's theme - New Malts on the Block. On offer was a mini tour of new Scottish offerings from Benromach Organic, the latest edition of Compass Box Flaming Heart, Kilchoman 2006 Vintage, Glenmorangie Nectar D'Or and Highland Park Thor.<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.benromach.com/benromach/benromach-organic-strength-43-24-benromach.html?cookie_compliance=1">Benromach Organic </a></b>is "interesting" in a that's-the-kindest-thing-to-say about it sort of way. It's a certified organic single malt. Which is tricky if you consider that not only do all the ingredients and production methods have to comply with certified organic guidelines, but so does the wood it ages in. Most single malts are aged in previously used barrels, most commonly sherry or Bourbon. To be absolutely sure of the source material, Benromach used completely new, unused American oak barrels, a.k.a. virgin oak, from a "green" forest, meaning one that complies with environmental re-forestation initiatives so as not to deplete all the trees.<br />
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So how does it taste? In a word, "interesting." It's very thick, almost chalky, but also manages to have an almost oily feel. There's a pungent smokey flavor mixed with bitter chocolate. But that's about it. Short finish. Sedate. Guess that virgin oak needs a few more times round the block to show some gusto, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jT3_UCm1A5I">nudge nudge wink wink know what I mean</a>? Weird, considering new barrels should impart more robust, not subtle flavors. It's a malt that would definitely benefit from more experience and flavor integration, which I hope they work on, to match quality with the humanitarian message.<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.compassboxwhisky.com/home.html">Flaming Heart 2012</a>,</b> on the other hand, is a prime example of what is produced with time and experience. This is John Glazer's fourth go at blending a selection of single malts and letting them get to know each other as they spend time in the appropriate barrel where they achieve a precise, flavor-driven dram. It's a pleasure to sip, at once smokey, sweet, floral and spicey, with none of the flavors too loud or pointy, and no artificial colors or fancy filtering. Last night happened to be Flaming Heart Night around Williamsburg, as there was also, from what I hear, a rip-snorting great time at <a href="http://noormanskil.com/">Noorman's Kil</a> for its official release. Cheers, Glazer et al! Well done.<br />
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<b><a href="http://kilchomandistillery.com/whisky-shop/single-malt-whisky-liqueur/2006-vintage-70cl">Kilchoman 2006 Vintage Release</a>.</b> Another "interesting" one. Kilchoman is the first new distillery on <a href="http://www.islayinfo.com/">Islay</a> (btw, the name of the island is not pronounced "iz-lay" or "eye-lay," though at least that's close. It's "eye-lah," rhymes with "sky-la") in something like 124 years. They're taking cues from American cousins by growing their own grain, doing their own floor malting, etc. Seems like they're on the right track, but also, much like a few American whiskies who are excited to greet their public, this five year old tastes very young. It's super peppery, not just in the vegetal sense, but also the chili sense. And oddly, kind of garlicky, almost like an Asian garlic chili pepper sauce. Then it's just smokey. Do we drink this or pour it into a bowl of ramen? Mmmmm. <a href="http://www.ippudony.com/">Ramen</a>...<br />
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Well, after some salty ramen, one might want to drink <a href="http://www.glenmorangie.com/our-whiskies/nectar-dor/"><b>Glenmorangie Nectar D'Or</b></a>. Not exactly sure why this was considered one of the newbies, though it seemed new to many of the campers who hadn't yet tried it. This product is an example of the sort of board meeting discussion they can have at (parent company) Moet Hennessy in which people say things like, "We have access to some of zee best <a href="http://www.wine-searcher.com/regions-sauternes">Sauternes</a> casks. What eez zee harm in aging all zat extra Glenmoran-jjjie in it, non?"<br />
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Answer: "Zer eez no harm."<br />
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Although it's a very sweet expression. This time tasting it, I detected more of a balanced acidity, much like the nuances of, well, a good Sauternes - ripe and dried apricots, orange peel, ripe peach, dates, vanilla and caramel. It's a pleasant treat once in a while. Just try not to think about all that extra caramel color they add to it.<br />
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Finally, we tasted the <a href="http://www.highlandpark.co.uk/the-tasting-room/valhalla-collection/thor"><b>Highland Park Thor</b></a> (God of Thundah!!). This is the first of their "Valhalla" series, named for Nordic gods. The distillery is the most northern in Scotland, on the isle of Orkney, where they no doubt saw some Viking action back in the day. Essentially, this is Highland Park 16 in very fancy packaging (that wooden ship skeleton that holds it is fastened by magnets and looks just as impressive open as it does closed.) I've always been a huge fan of Highland Park, which in my opinion is one of the few single malts that is consistently smooth and complex throughout its range, without getting too hot in the older vintages. The 16 was previously only available as a duty free release. So hey, dress it up in armor, bump up the price by $100 a pop and...<br />
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Honestly, I can't get too mad at it. It's quite delicious, with tropical flavors of coconut and banana bread in the fore, vanilla, macadamia nuts and figs in the middle and a salty, sweet barbecue smoke to finish it out. If I could afford a bottle... face it, it looks awesome. Glad to know it's beautiful on the inside too.<br />
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Looking forward to seeing the campers again in a couple of weeks! Until then, drink responsibly, kids.winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-1366701339242943612012-08-28T10:17:00.001-04:002012-08-28T10:18:05.218-04:00Team MollieDan in the Catskills<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Aaaaaaa-chooooooo!<br />
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Well, I finally got out into the country for a bit. Last weekend, my parents and I drove out to <a href="http://www.fleischmannsny.com/">Fleischmanns, New York</a> in the Catskills for the wedding of my cousin Mollie Lief and Dan Abramson. We knew this would be a great event, as the Liefs know how to throw a party, Mollie was always an outgoing and clever kid, and Dan is a happy addition to the family. Writes for <a href="http://funnyordie.com/">funnyordie.com</a>, no less!<br />
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The wedding was indeed beautiful, delicious (fried chicken, pie and ice cream cake? Why don't more people do this????) and entertaining. The setting on Judd Hill in the cloudless sky was breathtaking. Even the porta-potties were classy!<br />
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The trick was getting there. And staying there. Luckily the drive up and back was mostly uneventful. We stayed at the <a href="http://riverrunbedandbreakfast.com/">River Run Bed and Breakfast</a>. Not such a bad place on a budget. The Four Seasons it ain't. But you get a bed, you get breakfast, plus a big porch to hang out on.<br />
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The innkeeper, Ben Fenton, has turned the living room into not only a place to hang out, read and watch movies, but also a mini museum of family memorabilia. His great grandparents ran a beauty parlor back in the day. I referred to the room as the "Beauty Parlor Parlor."<br />
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Various antique hair dryers and metal "permanent wave" curlers (thats them hanging from that metal stand, look closely among the flora and fauna.)<br />
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Great dinner our first night at the <a href="http://www.peekamooserestaurant.com/">Peekamoose</a> restaurant in Big Indian, the next town over. Well chosen wine list (if a little lacking in local producers) and way above average seasonal comfort dishes. Had a roast chicken with corn that was essentially the food equivalent of a warm hug. Loved this tree lamp in the main dining room.<br />
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Speaking of, I was worried with all the gluttonous imbibery and whatnot, and a lot of sitting, I would go way off my game over the course of the weekend. But luckily there was time for some vigorous hilly walking near River Run on both days to balance some of the damage.<br />
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Of course the main reason to come to Fleischmanns was Team MollieDan! As I said, the Liefs know how to put on a show. <br />
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Maple syrup place cards.<br />
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The couple take their first dance. Luckily this was all under a tent. Did I mention, cloudless sky? I got a tad pink during the ceremony, which was not. (Oh well, stripes are still in fashion this season...) But I also got a little verklempt. I remember when Mollie was born in 1983. I remember swimming with her in our family pool in CT when she was a child, and playing hide and seek at night. I remember her bat mitzvah and the <a href="http://www.dmusastore.com/c-10-boots.aspx">purple Doc Martens </a>she bought with some of her loot. I've seen her at all stages of her life, and she's always been the coolest.<br />
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Yes, I'm now old enough to be living a life insurance commercial without the need for time lapse photography.<br />
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Hava Negila!<br />
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Cousins Jude and Felix (mom and pop of the bride.)<br />
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Myself and the happy, beautiful bride.<br />
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More of the fourth generation Liefs: cousins Eli and Karenna.<br />
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Pre-sunset chuppa. Loved the purple wildflowers there and on the tables.<br />
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Well, that was enough country air for this city slicker. It was good to be home again.<br />
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<br />winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-723071816285053308.post-29836712399072307122012-08-16T11:25:00.002-04:002012-08-23T17:49:20.863-04:00Camp Whiskey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"<i>Hello Muddah,</i></div>
<i>Hello Fadduh.</i><br />
<i>Here I am at</i><br />
<i>Camp Granada.</i><br />
<i>Camp is very</i><br />
<i>entertaining.</i><br />
<i>And they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Well, it didn't stop raining last night, but that didn't keep us from having fun at Camp Whiskey! Camp Whiskey is a new tasting group founded by "head counselors" <a href="http://charno4.com/">Char No. 4'</a>s Jeff Galli, <a href="http://whiskeyshopbrooklyn.com/">The Whiskey Shop</a>'s Jonathan Wingo and brown spirits enthusiast Gary He. Each week, the campers gather in a commercial space in Brooklyn TBD and taste a selection of whiskies with a particular theme. Last night was a roundup of experimental selections from American craft distilleries <a href="http://www.corsairartisan.com/">Corsair</a>, <a href="http://kingscountydistillery.com/">Kings County</a>, <a href="http://www.smoothambler.com/">Smooth Ambler</a>, <a href="http://balconesdistilling.com/">Balcones</a> and <a href="http://www.charbay.com/">Charbay</a>. As you can see in the picture, many of these are samples that are not yet on the market, or examples of items that aren't available here. This is the shizzle, whiskey geeks!<br />
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The tasting is very well organized, and the counselors make sure we're well hydrated as we taste through the selections (so no visit to the infirmary is necessary.) Each whiskey is presented with background information and we taste them together as a group. What I found refreshing is that unlike most group tastings I've attended, we weren't called upon to yell out our thoughts on the dram or exclaim the flavors we detected. Instead, we were given time to reflect on what we were experiencing and ask questions.<br />
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Last night, we had the great fortune to hear Derek Bell from Corsair and Dave Smith from St. George speak to us via phone about their projects. The speaker phone was a little muffled, so to keep the distillers from sounding like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUyLwXhqlWU">the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon</a>, Jonathan rigged up a plastic trash can to the phone as an amplifier. Science in full effect!<br />
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There was also a very special guest camper, Nicole Austin, master blender from Kings County, presenting the latest batches of unaged corn whiskey and Bourbon. She spoke about the perils of aging whiskey in an un-temperature controlled environment in Brooklyn. The fluctuating conditions make it difficult to age a spirit for long stretches since too much time can result in "over-cooking" as extremes of weather beat down on the barrels. She also discussed the size of the barrels (5 gallons) and how that affects the flavor and aging process (larger the barrel, the more the whiskey needs time to age, but also the more room it has to develop complexities.) Since Bourbon must be aged in new charred white oak, the most cost effective process must be in place. Therefore, medium-sized barrels make sense here.<br />
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Of course, there is always the guy in the crowd who asks the question, "Isn't Bourbon always from Kentucky?"<br />
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Nicole: "It can be made anywhere in the US as long as it follows the rules."<br />
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He: "Alaska?"<br />
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She: "Anywhere in the US."<br />
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He: "Hawaii?"<br />
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She: "Anywhere. In. The. US."<br />
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Well-handled!!!<br />
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Unlike many corporate whiskies, Kings County is not a uniform product that will taste the same from bottle to bottle, batch to batch. Having tasted the unaged corn whiskey a few years ago, the newer batches are less "moonshine-y" and more sippable. However, personally, I do think the aged Bourbon could use a little time to whack out some it its kinks. Am curious to try it again as the product develops at the distillery.<br />
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In all it was a fascinating lineup. The Corsair selection (and these guys really like to push boundaries) included the Wormwood Wit, 12 grain Bourbon, Mocha Porter, Cherry Wood, Rasputin and Amarillo. Corsair's signature flavor is very hoppy and cereal-y. The 12 grain was especially so, using the required amount of corn for Bourbon and then 11 other grains, which made it taste like old <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kasha">kasha</a>. Also, the Mocha Porter did indeed taste like mocha, but if it were made with <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzZJg4_va3k">Quik</a> and Nescafe instead of richer chocolate and coffee. My favorite of these was the Wormwood Wit, which had a pleasant anise, Asian spice (ginger, lemongrass, cardamom) and tart cherry flavor that balanced nicely with the hops.<br />
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St. George offerings were the new Bourbon and the Port Barrel, which is actually the very same distillate given a Port finish. I liked both. The Port was a little heavy and masked the whiskey too much, but I can see wanting to drink it at the end of a meal with or for dessert.<br />
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The Balcones and Charbay both tasted familiar and distinct, in a good way. Balcones Baby Blue is a corn whiskey from the blue variety, consistently tastes of sweet spices and pretzels. Charbay Hopped American Whiskey really tastes like what it is, an IPA beer with a sophisticated, spirited kick.<br />
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But my favorite of the night was the Smooth Ambler Triple Malt. It didn't seem too gimicky or <i><a href="http://www.wordnik.com/words/ongepotchket">ongepotchket</a>, </i>just simple flavors of cereal, subtle oak, citrus peel and maple. After tasting so many hot and hoppy expressions, this was very satisfying.<br />
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In all, I was well impressed at the group and the leadership and I'm very excited to go back to camp again soon. Especially since what they give us to drink sure beats <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=bug%20juice">bug juice</a>!winenshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07606350925870948766noreply@blogger.com0