(#7) wine, women, wounds and weed

Watch-Out World here comes the Ugly American Wine Drinkers...

Raising Prices Enhances Sales
1/14/08
WASHINGTON -- Want people to like your product more? Raise the price.
That seems to be the lesson from a new study in which people were asked to taste wines marked with different prices.
Researchers scanned the brains of the testers and found that the part of the brain that records pleasure lit up more for the more pricey vintages.
And that was true even when - unknown to the testers - they were sipping a wine that they had liked less when it had a lower price tag....(http://www.star-telegram.com/ )...d22

Ugly is as Ugly does...

A Tale of Two Wine Orders:

In Italy:
"Ciao, vorrei un bicchiere di vino rosso..."
"(Hi, I would like a glass of red wine...)"

"Certo..." "Ecco un Chianti..."
"(Certainly...)" "Here's a Chianti..."

"Grazie..." ("Thank you...")

In America:
"Hi, we'd like to order some wine, do you have any specials...?"

"Just the regular wine list with some nice wines..."

"No specials? Let me see the list..."

"Sure, here you go..."

"We're Cabernet drinkers, I see you only have an Italian Cab..."

"Yes, that's right, we are an Italian Wine Bar..."

"I never had an Italian cab, do you have Shiraz...?"

"No, we have Nero d'Avola, it's similar..."

"Can we try it first?"

"Sure.."

"I don't like that, do you have something more chewy, with less tannins, fruity but dry..."

"I'm not sure what that is..."

"At these prices you should really know the wines better..." "Just give us two glasses of Pinot Grigio..."

"Ok, here you go..."

"Don't we get some peanuts or something...?"

"I'm sorry we only have the menu..."

"It's hot in here, is the air-conditioner on...?"

"Yes, it is..."

"Are you sure this is Pinot Grigio, it doesn't taste like the one we always get at the diner..."

"Yes, I'm sure thats Pinot Grigio..."

"You know you're very arrogant..."

"I'm sorry you feel that way..."

"We'll take the check..."

"Here's the check, thank you..."

Ho hum......here comes the Americans to the wine world and doing what they do best................indicating depth while being oh so shallow, cheapening an art by turning it into a consumer product, putting a price tag on poetry, taking out the romance of a tradition, oh how they so bore me to death............empty little souls....................I'd love to see all the non-Americans enter McDonalds, T.G.I.-Fridays or any other American empty enterprises and ask if they could have a slice of a hamburger to taste before they purchase it, and then perhaps they would see how class-less, tacky and callously consumer-oriented that would be.....................d22

2007- Stellar Vintage for Long Island

David Page of Shinn Estate Vineyards in Mattituck said he has never seen anything like it on Long Island.Early blending wine from malbec grapes, he said, tastes of "blueberries slow-roasted in a wood-burning oven," cabernet sauvignon has alcohol levels exceeding 14 percent, and local chardonnay is displaying a "beautiful tropical character" with hints of papaya, melon and "pretty banana.""It's completely across the board," Page said of the quality of this year's wines, still in the making. "We look at each other in total amazement, no matter what it is we're tasting." Page and Barbara Shinn, restaurant owners for two decades, have spent a decade growing grapes and making wine here.(from newsday.com)...d22

8.1) be my baby blue eyes...

Baby blue eyes I'm in a rush! ........UH, UH, UH (before I turn to dust)....... Relax, recline, you must trust....... 'Cause I'm a man who's gonna bring you luck!......... Make you feel, like you won the lottery....... Make a deal...... Sidetrack, all the lies that might have changed history........ A woman makes a man make a woman understand all her life's a mystery....you're a mystery.......... Baby Blue eyes makes a fuss. .......'Why do you always make me wanna fake it when we make love and make me squeal, like I won the lottery ............ Let's make a deal and side track all the lies that might have changed history.'....... A women makes a man make a woman understand, all her life's a mystery, you're a mystery......... Take your clothes off, remedy sadness this way. .......Take your clothes off, remedy sadness this way....JC

8.2) Shooting flames and rockets...

It’s New Years Eve, 2002. I’m back in our beautiful, brick and stucco apartment, nestled into the Tuscany hillside. Sparkling stars are beaming in the deep night sky. A full moon glows down from above, illuminating the few, red pedals of the geraniums left still in bloom, kept alive through the pull of the mighty Tuscan sun. The thick smell of wood burning fills the air.
Veronica appears fresh from a steamy shower, applying lavender oils to her smooth skin. I catch a glimpse of her big blue-green eyes, as she lights a match and the smell of burning incense fills the room. Candles flicker and dance, creating a show of shadows and silhouettes against the white stucco walls...
I hear a commotion outside and open the waiting window and green shudders, connecting to the outside world. The window looks down the enchanted hillside, past the quaint garden, overlooking old churches and bell towers, synchronized olive groves and a maze of orange-red terracotta roofs. Narrow, winding roads serpent down. Unbeknownst to me, on the toll of midnight, Italians celebrate New Year’s Eve with a bursting of colorful fireworks. Shooting flames and rockets light up the night sky, as chiming church bells ring out everywhere, providing a surreal scene. To me it has all the feel of the Fourth of July, but it’s not, instead it’s New Year’s Eve, and the warmth of summer has been replaced by a crispness of winter. Veronica comes in front, melts back into my arms and we lock harmonious hands, as I smell her fragrant raven-brown hair and we both take in the show… d22

8.3) As the stomach turns...

I had a wedding in the sun....... You were invited but you didn't come...... You missed all the fun... ..the party's all done...... the reverend was drunk....... the vultures left crumbs...... I had a wedding in the field....... I had all the invitations sealed........ what a rotten deal....... suddenly it's real....... all the sentiments revealed....... all the envelopes concealed....... And every night I wake up, I gaze into your eyes....... Welcome to my world of lies!........ I had a wedding in the wind........ A voice said 'DO IT!' so I did. .....I faked it...... A perfect fit....... And planets collide......as we walked down the aisle........ Your stomach turns........ I know what to do so you hurt....... Every night I wake up and I gaze into your eyes......... Welcome to my world of lies. -jc

8.4) Later, kelly...

In his haste to “flip”, he left a knapsack with some deodorant, hair wax, a copy of Tropic Of Capricorn, and a legal pad with some semi-incoherent ramblings and his writings contained, within. One entitled Gone Mirror, seemed to paint an accurate self portrait: I don’t know how many times I’ve lived only for the day. Twenty dollars in my pocket, then sixteen, then, eight, a pack of cigarettes brings me down to just about a buck. Managing to have somehow gotten drunk on it, killed the day, sitting reading in a cheap bar with a tender who didn’t know me yet or if they did weren’t sure if they had really liked me or really hated me; nonetheless, never worried about the money, where it would come from tomorrow and hell, if it didn’t, that was alright too. I’ll always have my friends- around the holidays, though, another year closer to what we have and will become and finish with. I’m not sure how I feel about it, sort of the way you stare at a brick wall after a mirror which has been there for a long time is removed and you keep looking for it, expecting every time for it to appear one more time again... Goodbye my friend, I'll catch ya in another life...Ya see he was my Sundance Kid, or I was his Butch Cassidy...Or something silly like that...d22

8.5) phases of the moon...

Lightning....... crashes on the skyline...... Crying rain washes all the pain........ And the moonlight, will be born tonight..........oh angry wind, try to be polite..... The silent shadows sleep alone. ................In the morning all the little flowers grow.......... I know, it's in my soul............ When the morning comes, we'll say ' where did all the anger go?............. ' And I'm coming back to you. .............I hope you feel the same way as I do.......... I love you........ Yes I do that's true............ and you said you hated me.... I agreed with you, but soon the rain will stop............... and the anger too... And I'm coming back to you............... I hope you feel the same way................ as I do. -jc

8.6) Late to the ditalini dance...

Is everything that we have interest in not some selfish extension of our own egos? Doesn’t this notion of love really just satisfy some inner self-need of affection, attention, admiration etc.? To love is in itself just a selfish act, is it not? Can the mere act of reproduction, and all the chaos, confusion, cornucopia of emotions, contradictions, consequences and calamity that go with it, not be thought of as a selfish act brought upon by the instinctual and now inexplicable need for a species to survive…....? I had a girl once...…an Italian girl…that showed me otherwise, or at least attempted to show me otherwise. But I wouldn’t let it be heard. I thought I was listening but didn’t hear until it was too late. Too late, to show that I could hear, that I did hear, that I wanted to hear, that I was capable of hearing............ d22

8.7) long hair and giant bugs...

Come to the marketplace and kindly leave your hair down, I will soon be there on time, I won't be late. I am a man who faces final confrontations, and I don't have the patience. I am not afraid.......Wouldn't you look crazy as a giant bug? You could be my model, I will dress you up. Woudn't you look crazy as a giant bug!!! We could fall in love. Although I've seen our love confused, I still believe in you, if we start something new, two worlds apart. As long as we pretend to be two strangers when we meet, the lie will build a mystery, inside our hearts. Wouldn't you look crazy as a giant bug?..... I will be the pusher, you will be the drug.....and we could fall in love. So tonight, let's dream, let's play some make believe. Let's make believe we're another creature, prowling on the scene. Let's fake! let's make some good mistakes. Let's take a break, a small vacation, just for half a day. Let's dream, let's play some make believe...........JC

8.8) A shooting star called, 'La Dolce Vita'...

This has got to be a dream… Everything just spiraled down in no time at all… I can close my eyes right now and be right back “home” in Florence, like it was yesterday…. Sitting by an outside café, overlooking the Piazza Signoria, with its Statue of David proudly standing guard in front of the Palazzo Vecchio…. The famed Uffizi Museum and all its treasures of art bursting inside, sits laterally across the square… Constant humming and whizzing of all the nearby scooters and Vespas carrying on and about the Renaissance city, energizes the moment... The handsomely elegant citizens, all perfectly dressed with radiant shines from their polished shoes, bring new meaning to grace and style … Local leather comes alive, in belts, bags and jackets and is fashioned with perfectly creased slacks and buttoned down shirts with never a wrinkle, an element of class both natural and fitting... Old couples walk; hand in hand, still bitten by love… Beautiful woman glide by on old bicycles, complete with baskets in front and a loaf of long bread jutting out of its side... Church bells ring and ring again, echoing into history... Cobblestone streets are alive with foot traffic and haunted by ancient footprints of the past... Laundry hangs down, from golden, terracotta-roofed buildings and high atop the narrow streets from one side to the next, as the powerful sun does the work of a modern dryer… Artists are out sketching, drawing, and perfecting their work… A fruit vendor polishes his colorful, untainted gems… The heavy breaths, of a pumping accordion, flutter into the air… A stringed puppet show entertains a small gathering in the midst of the square… I wait for the love of my life to join me for dinner... Life is good... Life is grand… Vero, mi manchi molto… mi manchi molto... d22

8.10) the devil in love

This is a story of a Jack and Jill who went up the hill and then came down when the rain came down, down to the ground. They all found the fruit, the wisdom of the roots... PROOF! of all the universal wicked truths.................Glory was stuck in a place. She wanted to leave, but she stayed. And then came her coming of age. When the powerful rain came. No one had answered her prayers. Divine conversations were rare. Then finally someone who cared walked up the stairs... They had a wide eyed affair but they left it up in the air. Lightning crashed in the garden. It must be the devil in love....... He walked in the room afraid. She poured MOTHERS MILK on his face. She practiced this role playing game to satisfy the devil in love. ' You must be hungry and scared but now that it's over you must be aware' suddenly he was aware... The weather changed! Oh what a wide-eyed affair. All of a sudden now he cares! When lightning crashed in the garden... It must be the devil in love...jc

8.11) til death do us part...

Isn't it a fact, that you've become so practiced in the art of inflection, that even a simple conversation has become a complicated matter of interpretation? That even when you say, 'I CAN HELP YOU', I have to double-check the emphasis on the words, 'I' or 'CAN' or the words 'HELP' or 'YOU', to truly understand the meaning attached, or perhaps the sudden loss, or lack of truth. Do words mean nothing to you? Or is it me? Has my mind become so wound and tight that I've become so paranoid of verbal quips and tricks in the night and so lost in linguistics, searching for proof, that any time you tell me, 'I can help you', it should be a foregone conclusion that you're telling me the truth? ----jc

8.12) zoology eulogy...

In the end we conserve only what we love, and we love only what we understand, we understand only what we've learned. In the end it was small talk amongst friends . In the end it was caviar sparing no expense. In the end we had open minds as we sat on a picket fence. But in eyes of the heavens we were drinking wine in a desert. In the end we were all friends. We would come again, save the world again. Still deceiving lights are right at home around here. We celebrate, as another life disappears. In the end it's the Ice age that makes sense. Or how we lost our childhood innocence. Or how we broke some hearts that never even stood a chance... In the end we conserve only what we love, and we love only what we understand, we understand only what we've learned. ....JC

8.13) 19 DEGREES BELOW ZER0 (unreleased song lyrics)

Someone call the ambulance---This time I'm not dreaming---Both of us have caught a chill---Can you help us heal it?---19 degrees below zero---It's so cold---It's so cold---If we survive we might be heros---But I don't know---I don't know---love and hate -a cold exchange---we've lost our greater purpose--- Fell into an icy lake--- trapped below the surface---19 degrees below zero--- in our souls--- In our souls--- if we survive we might be heros --- I just hope ---I just hope-------------- If we get out alive this time... I'll send out cards for Christmas... every year I miss this day... but now I won't forget it....19 degree's below zero .... we are so close.. we are so close ... If we survive we might be heros ...and go home ... ... yeah yeah yeah... jc

8.14) when war comes to town...

How crazy life in the city became in the damaged days following 9/11. I remember driving back to Brooklyn “half in a bag”, courtesy of some good Australian Shiraz and some “wacko tobacco” and instead of having to negotiate minor traffic and worry about navigating past an occasional cruising cop or two as was the norm, now I had the manufactured misfortune of circumventing each corner of Canal Street and whichever avenues were left open, with a hefty hodgepodge of numerous cops and firemen, Army personnel and accompanied equipment, National Guard, F.B.I., C.I.A and occasional others whose uniforms or dire demeanor I didn’t recognize. All were enveloped by a barrage of hanging and pasted American flags and slogans. It was a blatantly bizarre world- dark, surreal, smoky, smoldering, tragic, haunting, pungent... It was just way weird...d22

8.17) Life's a virtual trip...

What is life about anyway? Our simple minds are so limited(pick up a newspaper), one would be a fool to think that the restictions of the brain may allow us to see the real "big picture" or anything even remotely close to it...Perhaps our lives are just some advanced society’s way of “tripping”. Perhaps instead of having a short, simple, modern-day drug trip on acid or some other mind-altering chemicals, a race has developed a way to have an actual “life trip”. During this adventure one may experience an entire life, from birth to death. Maybe the whole “human experience” only takes a small fraction of futuristic time units to take place... Perhaps Earth is just one giant cosmic playground for others to “get away from it all”, whatever that may be...d22

8.175) The Florist is closed...

Should I let you in my soul? the night is getting old. your eyes shine like gold. And there's an angel in the fold. Should I seranade with song? What if I say something wrong? This moment wont last long. And it's the breaking of the dawn. I don't believe in giving flowers, the light's in my soul. There's no meaning in a flower that I can call my own. We must agree. Before it's done. Heed the warning of the sun. It can be if we imagine. We shouldn't wait for any reason. Don't believe in giving flowers. The lights in my soul. There's no meaning in a flower that I can call my own. The situation needs my concentration. Do you have the patience to give me one more chance? But I won't give you flowers to open up your mind. This land is full of lies. Nothing I could hold could satify your mind or my love.... I won't give you flowers for my love.....my love....my love..... jc

8.18) Past Ponte Vecchio...

Just past noon, on a crisp winter day with deep blue skies and a warming Tuscan sun above, I began my walk. Through the renaissance city I went, letting the streams of the sun be my guide. Cold in the stark shadows of the ancient buildings and churches, I stayed wherever the sun’s powerful beams shined. Cutting through the surrounding city, I came upon the boundaries of the Arno River.
There I stopped to glance once again at the famed “Ponte Vecchio” (translates-Old Bridge). Constructed nearly 1000 years ago, it was the only bridge left untouched after the Germans destroyed the others upon their quick exile out of Italy at the end of WWII. With the backdrop of blue skies and the illumination of sunlight on its earthy pastels, I crossed this majestic bridge and resurfaced into another part of the city.
There, turning and walking left, to gaze a different view of this proud bridge, I stood in the soothing sunlight to briefly ponder what ships had come and gone under the archways, over the vast centuries past. Coming out of these thoughts, peripherally, I noticed something left and behind me. As I turned I was quickly absorbed with the sight of a huge, wide set of dark, cement and stone steps covered in parts with a deep green moss.
My first thought was how I could not have seen them on my pass to the bridge view. My second thought was I must go up them. Some maybe thirty-five feet long and perhaps in total fifty steps- I began my ascent. From the tiring top, I followed a narrow cobblestone road, lined in parts by the usual Tuscan six-foot walls, used in the past to protect from ancient invading enemies.
To my delight, the road ascended right into the strong sun and so steep at times, that I needed to place my hands on my knees and push off to climb forward. Occasionally I would pop my head over the wall and gaze at the enchanted valleys of Tuscany that lay beyond. Even through shielding sunglasses, the sun poured down through the shiny silver green leaves and gnarly branches of the vast olive trees that bordered behind the walls.
It was at this moment, that I saw a distant figure approaching… As it neared and came into a, still cloudy focus, the figure became that of my father, but not as I last remembered him, but as he was about twenty years ago. The conversation that ensued escapes me more each day, but I recall him saying, while changing images, that he was also my not yet conceived son, my nephew, my brother…
Watching him so peaceful and content, my thoughts became personal and I noticed in a fleeting moment that my heart, which had been pounding from the grueling walk up, had reduced itself to a perfect calm and my thumbs, which for years had insecurely hid inside my closed fists and warmth of hand, had spread open and at this instance my thoughts came to reside on the source of this calm and it was simply the notion that no matter what happened in this life, I had found peace and that peace came to me in the gift of a person that I refer to as, Veronica… d22

8.19) YOU'RE A VEGETABLE...AND THAT'S YOU

8.20) Ice-storm...

I do recall a couple of weeks ago, in the midst of all this, whatever all this really is- I couldn’t take being locked in the human habitrail anymore and had to get out. I walked from 77th and 1st through Central Park as far west as I could and up to 90th street, then all the way down to the far away 40’s, back east and up to 77th again. Through the park, I would avoid any clustered conversations in English as a magnet would repel upon another’s proximity, rather, drawn close to any foreign tongue although incapable of its comprehension, but more soothed by its presence and consciousness of its existence. I would stumble and bumble through the frozen streets like a zombie, occasionally looking up at some poor soul and wondering if his mind was as totally tortured as mine...Pathetically along the way, I still had the habit of stopping in front of each and every Italian restaurant and peeking in the waiting window to see just by some stroke of luck or chance that there might be another Veronica somewhere inside, but it never happens. Sadly so, it never happens. She’s gone and as much as the ole ego wants to deceive and connive me into thinking she somehow is coming back, I know it’s not happening. I’m simply not that special, as my irritating ego loves to have me believe....d22

(#7) wine, women, wounds and weed

SITE MAP:

Bacchus 'God of Wine'

Nova...

sour grapes:

Watch-Out World here comes the Ugly American Wine Drinkers...

Ugly is as Ugly does...

Can He Change the "Ugly"...

Gambero Rosso (Wine Bible of Italy):

Wino of the week:

Salute:

2007- Stellar Vintage for Long Island

Great wine meets whimsical whine:

Bordeaux 2005: the greatest vintage of the last fifty years?

When women were "real" women:

Monday, June 15, 2009

Don't follow the herd, rather question the concept of herding...

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Bukowski on Love...

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Worthy of Celebrity-Birds of Paradise

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

cool hand luke...

Friday, July 13, 2007

Modern Day Freak Show...

Weed, Ganja, Maryjane- Corporations ain't controllin this, so what do they do? They invent the pharmaceutical industry of commerce and control...

Rilke...

Hieronymus Bosch's The Seven Deadly Sins...

email contact address:

Venus

Yearly deaths attributed to:

8.0) Nother day at the Office...