Y’all, I was doing so well with these blog posts and then suddenly I’m behind by like all of them. It’s possible that the wines this particular week foreshadowed this climb in terrifying to-do lists and feigned self-hair-pulls, whose bottles of detailed intensities and precise flavours were just as spirited as the flawed bottles of oxidized Müller-Thurgau and corked Schiava. Which – by the way – picking up even just the slightest bit of cork taint is a weird way to edge your confidence back up after insisting that your nose is broken in some way.

Do pray tell, who decided that a queer dance event lasting from 2PM until 8PM was a good idea? (This is me trying to project my own bad decisions on other people.)… read more