The focus is red wine and to get right to it without distraction, click The Wine Commonsewer Speaks. The rest of the enchilada is just enough of an
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First time The House Blond saw this she didn't understand the concept of mooned, but she thought his plumber's butt was falling-off-the-barstool funny, something that Stevie Crown---trench coat, battered fedora, and the Dick Tracy watch---has done more than once.....
Help! I've fallen and I can't reach my drink.....
Not to mention taking the express escalator shaft down to the lower floor late one Saturday night in Singapore (watch that first step, it's a doozy).
This is how it works here at Casa de las Rocas Grandes: The Boy and The House Blond get paid for the chores they do. Or they don't (sometimes). But as a rule, we don't do allowances, we do payroll. Cash on the barrel head. It isn't a perfect system and it isn't administered perfectly, but it does approximate real life to some degree. Except that we pay better than Mickie Dees and we're a little more easy going.
So the boy does some cashflow projections and works out the cost of goods sold and figures he's better off to strike out on his own.....
Dad! I could make way more money selling sodas than I can working for *YOU*!
See, Gentle Readers, California's chief health nanny, Governor Schwarzzengroper decreed that California public schools may no longer sell sugary snacks or sodas. And, get this, your mother can't bring home-made goodies to school for bake sales or kid's classroom parties. That purveyor of nutrition, Little Debbie is legal. Grandma's homemade brownies? Ash canned. And you know what I really wanted to say.
Economics 101 dictates that prohibition always creates a black market, whether it be for bathtub gin, hootchwah, or Coca Cola. Into that void steps my entrepreneurial son, advertising by text message (pass this along to your friends) that he is the Man With The Can.
The project penciled nicely at seventy-five cents a can but was winner, winner, chicken dinner at a buck per. First day's sales were brisk and The Boy plowed his profits into more inventory. He didn't anticipate the market would put a premium on chilled drinks, but he covered that post haste (Dad told him this would be important). He's also broadened his inventory to include Root Beer and Dr Pepper as well.
This, my friends, is exactly why I don't fret about The Boy's future.
Despite his observance of the maxim that discretion is the better part of anything, TWC anticipates that the school will shut him down at some point. In the meantime, he's learned a valuable life lesson.
Good job, son. Daddy is proud.
And then I get a text message from The Boy*. His signature is: SNELL SODA, INC.
Several of my clients have received official looking notices from Annual Filing Division demanding that they complete the California Statement of Information and include a fee of $195.00. While many of the claims made by this company are accurate, this solicitation is only a razor thin line away from outright fraud. Unquestionably, it is designed to prey upon the busy small business exec that is unfamiliar with the process but realizes that something has to be filed annually.
The form letter is designed to look as if it came from the State of California but there is a disclaimer at the bottom indicating that Annual Filing Division is not a government agency.
Any corporation or LLC can file the annual Statement of Information themselves and the filing fee is $25.00. Forms and instructions here. Corporations can file online at the Secretary of State's office here.
Freemark Abbey evolved from one of the first of the original Napa wineries and was founded in the mid-1880's by Josephine Tychson. I was looking for something snarky to say about barefoot and pregnant women under the oppressive and omnipresent boot of the patriarchy giving lie to historic reality but nothing particularly interesting comes to mind. So, we'll move ahead.
The Bosche Cabernet, which was started as an experimental batch in 1968
by the then one-year-old winery has become a cult classic, and a
representation of what Rutherford Dust Cabernet Sauvignon is all about.
Sourced from the Bosche vineyard, which was farmed by the late John
Bosche, and is still family owned, it is just a fence away from its
equally legendary neighbor, BV vineyard No. 1, where it was often used
in the Georges de Latour Special Reserve, until Bosche offered it to
Freemark Abbey. The wine has been a permanent feature of the winery
since 1970. The 1972 was in the Paris competition.
The 1997 was probably at its peak, bone dry and done in the traditions of Bordeaux. Mild cedar and pencil lead upfront followed with a subtle complexity on the palate that includes hints of tobacco, dark chocolate, and black currant. Each sip ended with a lingering finish that invited another.
We paired the Bosche with grilled ribeye and New York strip steaks, vine ripened yellow squash, and baked spuds loaded with all the good stuff including freshly harvested chives. Squash & chives courtesy of the gardens at Casa de las Rocas Grandes.
Although you might wish it was, the Bosche Cab isn't an everyday wine and it's priced accordingly ($50.00-$100.00 US).
Paris Wine Competition here. TWC on the rematch here.
The mural was installed in 2005 in the second floor bathroom of the Sofitel Queenstown Hotel in New Zealand. No word as to whether it is still there. The second lass from the right exhibits a typical reaction that the ladies have as TWC steps out of the shower. Pretty sure she's hummingIs That All There Is?.
TWC's gotta go to a wedding this weekend and so, he decides, for a change, not to wait until an hour before the plane leaves to see about packing.
Turns out, his favorite (and most expensive) suit is missing. Must have got shorted at the dry cleaners but that's a doubtful recovery since it's apparently been a while. At this point, while standing in the closet with a befuddled and somewhat angry look on his face, the illegal-after-2012 incandescent light bulb comes on* and he realizes that *this* is why he wore the gray suit to the Daddy Daughter dance last year.
Then again, his favorite aloha shirt is hanging right there. And the leather sandals? Yes Ma'am, in plain sight.
* bill signed by GWB, the president that much of the green crowd holds in contempt, for, among other things, not being green enough. GWB signed the bill after it was driven from Capitol Hill up Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House in a Toyota Prius. Got That? Not a Ford Escape. Not a Saturn VUE. Not a Chevy Volt. A Prius. That explains CONgressional guilt and the 900 Brazillian Dollar bailout for GM.
Personally, TWC isn't happy about the new laws. Mainly because his antique soda clocks use those incandescent bulbs that people used to call refrigerator (night light?) bulbs.