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Got several emails wondering about a Memorial Day post. To which I respond, please check back on Memorial Day, which is May 30th.
No, no, no, THIS weekend is a CONgressionally mandated three day weekend set aside to ensure that the roads will be clogged up like a two inch sewer line in a hundred year old house. For days. Or at least for hours.
Doubt any So Cal denizens are headed for the beach on what has turned out to be a breathtakingly gorgeous winter week end. Rest assured, however, that Glamis, the Colorado River, and Lake Havasu are packed with bronze beauties and various and assorted others who are partying heartily. DISCLAIMER: partying link not appropriate for kids or for parents whose kids are at The River this weekend.
Wait. No bronze beauties. Yet. Being Day One of Summer 2008, today will be Bleach Beach and by Monday? Lobster City. Pretty sure that El Jeronimo de Crow was the first to observe that phenom.
Actually, it was the other way around. We had a week of absolutely gorgeous, albeit scorching days, with views to the horizon, culminating with triple digits on Monday. Hey, TWC is a desert rat, I'll take hot, clear, and windy. You can have my share of dingy gray marine-layer-infested dewy mornings followed by hazy afternoon sunshine.
Right after I snapped this, came the swollen rain drops, about the size of small mice.
Then a huge winter storm blew through here like a freight train. Knocked a couple of freight cars off the tracks and upended a Peterbilt.
Wind, sleet, hail, thunder, and lightning. My lunatic children ran through it, all the while shrieking to the gods,
until they were soaked to the bone. They're rain deprived on account of being
in the rain shadow of Saddleback.
Figured David Enchilada had it in the bag so I was stunned when all those teeny-bopper votes didn't get through because, well, it was past their bedtimes. No matter, he's got a contract anyway. Apparently, the forty-something hotties had David Cook on speed dial and the the stone is cast. Well, somebody did, anyway. Enjoy.
My kids made parole. As of the end of next week, School's Out! Not exactly for summer, because we're year round. The House Blond starts fifth grade right after Independence Day and Jake starts Junior High on or about his twelfth birthday.
Just like a little kid myself, I been toe tappin' around the Casa, humming no more pen-sills, no more booooks-ah.....
That's from the GOP's token psuedo-drag queen Addams Family makeup queen and bad boy shock rocker Alice Cooper's wildly popular rock standard that's been adopted by succeeding generations of adolescents yearning to be free of the chalkboard yoke.
It occurs to me that by modern standards, this guy is a fargin' terrorist. I mean, look at these lyrics:
School's out for summer School's out forever School's been blown to pieces
Emphasis mine. But can we be too careful? What would happen to a seventh grader running through the halls on the last day of school, not singing, but gleefully shouting....
School's been blown to pieces
Not sure, but if you are horseplaying on a school bus, tossing around a kitchen timer in a game of hot potato, and somebody jokes that it's a bomb, you will be expelled. Or, if you make a crude drawing of something that looks like a gun, you will be expelled. Or if you accidentally bring a butter knife to school, you will be expelled.
Head implosion? Boy Howdy, you shoulda seen it when the House Blond brought a plastic replica of a rifle to school. Teacher's request. A prop for the kid playing Daniel Boone in the school play about the westward movement of America. Daniel Boone DID carry a rifle, didn't he?
Later, in the office retrieving the offending item: Good grief, Ma'am, it's not like someone just handed you a live grenade with the pin pulled. Handling it gingerly doesn't make it less likely that a toy rifle is going to explode and take the admin office out with it.
Mrs TWC was right about sending the kid to school with a toy gun when she observed that this isn't going to go well.
Alice Cooper was inspired to write his terrorist screed by.....
.....the last three minutes of the last day of school when
you're sitting there and it's like a slow fuse burning. If we
can catch that three minutes in a song, it's going to be so big.
Fate intervened leaving Mrs TWC and myself to our own devices on a Saturday night that happened to be Anniversary Eve. Karla lined us up to do jazz and drinks, but Friday in LA about did us in. We opted for a chick-movie, a 2003 Estancia Meritage, and (later) a little relaxing conversation out on the deck accompanied by a thousand city lights and a warm breezy evening...... It was sort of like a flashback to life before kids.
We're planning a big too-do come May 18, 2010, which is twenty-five years and a Tuesday. Tuesday Afternoon. Figure on Saturday the 15th.
The 2003 Estancia is lovely although it may not be quite as good as the 2004 that TWC reviewed here.
Saw Chicago in concert in Memphis longer ago than I care to remember. Hadn't paid much attention and it was just an accidental whim, somebody had an extra ticket. Yeah, sure, I'll go. No opening act, just two and a half hours of great stuff. Everybody's been to the best concert ever....but this was the best concert ever.
The rich guys buzzing the Casa with their vintage P-51 Mustangs Saturday morning at six didn't much care that we got in from the Big City some time after one AM. And, of course, the deck-mounted Ack Ack gun I bought from Acme Corporation for just these occasions is back ordered, so I was reduced to standing in the street flipping them the bird as they flew by at 400 mph.
The upside is that the worthless squawking parrot (lives down the hill with the donkeys) hates airplane noise. Every time the Mustangs swooshed down from the plateau to rocket across the lake, that bird went off the deep end. Does my heart good, too. Rotten bird. Dam screech is shrill enough to shatter crystal wine glasses (inside the cupboard, inside the casa, with the windows shut). Is it Live? Or Is it that good-for-nothing birdMemorex?
Hooked up with some old friends Friday night at Cafe del Rey. It was pricey, the service was superb, the steaks weren't as good as mine, but the conversation was lively. Still can't figure out why that Brent guy was drinking some yella-colored martooni lookin' thing when there was Ferrari-Carano Cabernet to be had [shrugs]. Didn't make sense, the man has a killer wine bar.
The Ferrari-Carrano, served in perfectly suited glasses, was superb. Later, the remaining four of us adjourned to the Ritz Carlton for port. Actually, I waved the port away in favor of a Stags Leap Cab. Muy Bueno. Got up to use the lobby, I mean, the lobby-size men's room, and Shikha wanted to watch me walk. Go ahead, I want to watch you walk. Flattering except I'm pretty sure she wasn't thinking, hmm, nice butt. Just wanted to see if I could do it. Which is iffy, even on a good day. Sit around for an hour or so and the power steering gets sticky.
Hot Tip: Speaking of pricey, To Avoid Sticker Shock, I invariably make the Old Lady pay the bill. Computers and cell phones might be cheap these days but restaurant tabs sure ain't. Gotta get out more I suppose. Well, [shakes head in disbelief] at these prices, maybe not.
I'm down with the rabbit that hopped up onto the barstool and ordered a draft beer. Bar tender figures, how bright could a rabbit be? He triples the usual price.
That'll be fifteen dollars please.
Later the bartender, looking a bit puzzled, mentions that we don't get many rabbits in here. The rabbit glances up at him from his beer.....
That doesn't surprise me at these prices.
As sunlight began to fade across the marina, Arthur, who is from Michigan, remarked on the clarity of the light, wondering if we locals even notice. Yes. We do. Sometimes.
On another note, Happy Anniversary Darlin', that may have been our anniversary date. Could have been worse.
Prohibition decimated the California wine industry, setting the evolution of US winemaking back five decades. Once the ban was lifted, surviving wineries focused primarily on producing cheap jug wines. Until Robert Mondavi's dynamic vision of winemaking on a par with the best of France, Spain, and Italy that is. Mondavi's legacy is nothing short of the astonishing plethora of delightful wines filling the shelves of grocerias and specialty shops across the land.
You'd expect to find the wine in the cellar at Louie's. Not to mention the explicit violation of TWC's cardinal rule that states: the cool factor of the label is inversely proportional to the quality of the wine. None the less, I was sucked in by the sheer marketing genius. Big Yellow Cab. I mean, this is better than Screaming Yellow Zonkers!
Apparently, Big Yellow Cab is what happened to Parducci Wines. Frankly, it's better than I anticipated, but rather fumey, which is TWC talk for reeking of alcohol. Decanting it helped a lot. There is some solid black cherry and other fruit there but as time progresses it might feel a bit like thick cough medicine. On the up side, at least, we're spared the indignity of sickly sweet.
At nine bucks (U.S.), the wine is okay, drinkable, meant for a little fun, so take it to a party. It'll make for some interesting conversation. Indubitably.
Probably won't get you hooked up with your dream date though.
Winemaker's Notes:
This cab carries black fruit aromas of plum and berry, and a whiff of toasty oak mingled with flavors of juicy pomegranate, tangy dried cherry and a light touch of clove spice. Big Yellow is the perfect vehicle for any number of fares.
A soft smooth ride inspired by a vintage taxi cab. That luxurious, sophisticated 1940s style seemed just right for what we had inside the bottle, so we put it on the outside, too.
Last week, TWC was fortunate enough to spend the better part of a quintessential So Cal spring evening at a great party, er, reception welcoming Nobel Prize winner Vernon Smith to his new post at Chapman University. Got to catch up with friends I hadn't seen for a while, including that other French Chick (and her editor hubby).
I'd been to Rodger Cosgrove's waterfront house once before, which dates to Gatsby and is just flat gorgeous, so this time I brought the camera. Without the card. Duh.
The Five Rivers Cab they served is surprisingly well done, yet another decently priced wine from Paso Robles that blows the doors off of some of the better wines from, ah, elsewhere. Like this one, and it's 2005 incarnation, priced at $23.99 US. Five Rivers? Around ten bucks.
Hot Tip: Do not visit the winery website if you've ingested any hallucinogenic substance, suffer epileptic seizures, are dyslexic, prone to flashbacks, detest psychedelic art, or are into your second bottle of wine. To be sure, the site is memorable, but, Jesus Chrysler, it's memorable in the way that the cover art from Days of Future Passed is memorable. [shrugs]
Note to Mom: Put the bar of Ivory away, I did not swear just then.
Speaking of Paso, a big shout out to my good friends at Sunset Ridge! Great Petit Sarah. I'm not just saying that neither.
Winemakers Notes:
This all Paso Robles Cab.....(is) deep, dense and rich. This wine emphasizes aromas of hazelnut, currant and black plum, with evident toasty oak from the mélange of French, American and Hungarian oak barrels carefully selected for the fruit.....you'll find a juicy entry featuring a full mouth-feel, with dense, almost plush tannins and flavors of plum and a lingering tobacco finish.
The wine is made, in part, from estate grown organically farmed grapes with additional fruit from Robert Hall and Steinbeck.
There are two simple measures of a good wine. Does the first sip elicit surprise or delight at how tasty the wine is? When the wine is gone, do you feel like she slipped away a little too soon that rainy Sunday morning?
Late in the evening, long after handing Mrs TWC the keys, the bartender found me another bottle. Tried a nice tip, which she absolutely refused, offering nothing more than a broad smile in return.
Tip of the glass to Rich D 
