This Will Be About Wine. Or Maybe Whine. Possibly Both?

First off, thank you to those who sent or are going to send me photos of windows for my office cubicle. After posting yesterday, I was afraid I might have New Coked it; by delivering what I thought was a good idea that turned out to be something that no one else thought was a good idea. So far, it looks like we are more down the road of Angus beef burgers or stuffed crust pizza, with regards to general acceptance and all. Holy crap do I need to stop relating my ideas to food or this post will never get completed! Any way, thank you for being so willing to brighten up my little cube.

Now, onto the whine wine. Everything about wine makes it something I should enjoy immensely. There are many, many kinds, makes and brands. People can sit around and discuss it. You make going to see where it is made a destination. And perhaps most importantly, it comes in many different packages and with a ton of different labels. I like packaging. Just ask my wife when I buy a new kitchen gadget at Target. No matter how heavy it is, I walk around with the box in my arms struggling to walk and read all of the packaging hyperbole that got me to buy said gadget in the first place. I might fit the mold or profile of someone who connoisseurs wine, assuming you can connoisseur it. I know you can consume it (well I can’t – but more about that in the sentences to come), but can you connoisseur it or just be a connoisseur of it? These are the questions that keep me up at night. Well, that and planning whether I want a real wood or faux wood dock in the front yard for that time in the not too distant future when my home in Corona becomes beach front property. And whether you can serve boiled lobster at a clam bake. It’s not called a lobster bake, and since it specifies clam, I’d hate to let anybody down. I can already tell there is going to be lots of responsibility as a beachfront homeowner.

Thanks to the unusually high variety of PRESCRIPTION (I’d hate to start nasty rumors) drugs, I cannot consume, or alas even connoisseur, alcohol. Heck, I never even developed a taste for it. In fact, when I smell alcohol when out with friends and family, I instinctively begin clenching my left fist in anticipation of having blood drawn for yet another test as if rubbing alcohol had already been swabbed over my arm. Also, did my use of the word ‘swab’ just then make anyone else think of pirates? Arrrrr right, back to the subject at hand, sorry. Smelling alcohol and thinking of having a needle plunged into my flesh is quite the pleasure killer. To help you understand, although I tried to be pretty crystal clear there, I will offer up a few other examples. In a twisted way, I guess it would be like smelling manure and associating it with beef or smelling cut cheese and associating it with cheesy goodness. And I’m talking about real cheese that has been cut at a cheese factory. It smells nasty, man. But then again, so does the other type of cut cheese. I’m going to stop now.

It bothers me that I’m not a wino. Wait, it bothers me that I’m not into wine or I am not a wineologist or winist. Or is it vineyardarian? The relatives I just visited in Oregon live in the middle of a vineyard and there are wineries all over. I’ve always thought it would be the coolest thing to own a winery with some clever name (which I would offer up right now if only I hadn’t sat in front of my computer for the last 20 minutes trying to think of one and only coming up with The squeezed grape or Virgin Wineries – in an ode to my lack of drinking sophistication) and equally clever label, but a non-wine drinking winery owner seems kinda dumb. Although, it does have a great PR angle. Owning a winery just seems fun. The oak barrels, the aging process, the tasting and selling and tours, and do I really need to mention getting to act like Lucy Ricardo while stomping all those grapes into juice. And it hitches up the sophistication level a few notches, which is a good thing because I could most certainly use a good sophistication up-notch hitching. I think. Truth be told, I just confused myself quite badly.

Do you ever feel like you are missing out on something? Like when you get to work and all of your coworkers see you, stop laughing and mysteriously, but quite obviously, disband? Like Michael Scott says: ‘I like inside jokes. I hope to be part of one someday.’ That’s what the whole wine fun seems like to me. We have friends who are into wine and take weekends to visit wineries and have a wine fridge in their kitchen and give away wine as gifts. It all seems like such a blast and real grown-upy. I’ve tried alternates like Root Beers. Have you ever noticed how many root beers there are? I used to collect Root Beer bottles for the labels. Then I realized how much I could make by recycling those bottles and my collection kinda, well, liquefied. I’ve certainly tried it with cheeses. Just one problem though, there seems to be a shocking shortage of cheese factories to visit. Well, at least legal ones. On our trip to Oregon, I checked the option of our GLAD (getting lost avoidance device) GPS unit to display the little bottle logo for all the wineries in the area. Surprisingly, there was no such logo indicating cheese or root beer factories.

It’s not that I’m whining or pulling out a bottle of hater-aide for wine connoisseurs. In fact, I envy you and look to live vicariously through you. Vicarious through vino, you might say. Or since you aren’t a member of the species Dorkus Humanicus like me, you might not say that. Actually, I’d bet on it. So, I hoist my diet A&W Cream Soda in your wine loving honor. The next time you spend a weekend wine tasting; just bring me back a t-shirt. Or a really cool label…

***Here’s my little reminder to send me your unanswerable questions and window pictures. I made the font green to soothe your eyes. As a token of your appreciation, you can just send me questions and window shots.