Good Morning Gentle Readers,
I met Bryan Babcock a couple of times and I'm quite certain that if you mention my name, Gentle Reader, he'd be absolutely baffled. I've also sampled his reds and, mmmm, good stuff. OK, there was a little more than just swishing and spitting (you, in back, shaddup, that is wine snob talk. Cretin.) .....and mmmm, good stuff.
Now, keep in mind, Gentle Readers From the Pleistocene, this is *not* the same Brian Babcock with his built 289 in a 64 Ford Falcon (4-speed posi and a straight axle out front) that wouldn't accept the plain reality that the TWC pocket rocket was going to smoke him in a drag race any day of the week. Even in a roll-on from twenty mph. Man, if Polly Davis had known her son was on the back of TWC's bike edging over the century mark, screaming down Springdale Avenue (speed limit: 40) on the way to morning classes at Pacifica High School she'da had apoplexy. This is why The Boy is not getting a driver license.
Thomas Jefferson is the Patron Saint of classical small-government libertarians everywhere and St Thomas would be proud that *this* Bryan Babcock has been named by the Los Angeles Times as one of the Ten Best Winemakers of the Year. Why? Well, Jeff was a classic wino who stocked the wine cellars of the White House out-of-pocket. Not to mention bringing his own personal chef with him from Monticello. Contrast that with modern America's monarchical tax-fed Imperial Presidency.