In search of a lift (think therapeutic laugh of the deep-soul variety), I’m rewinding to December 3, 2011. Flash back.
Inspired (not really the right word… maybe provoked?) by a review in the Wine Spectator, I uploaded a slightly irreverent and unnecessarily looong audio sketch. By way of introduction:
You might enjoy this curmudgeonly if slightly pompous fart that wafted out of the magazine pages briefly before vanishing into thin air (much to the surprise of my dog, Griffin, who sighed and rolled over to reflect on breakfast past and a sunny walk to come.) (Source: virtualDavis.com)
Hmmm… A pompous fart? I’ll let you be the judge of that. Without further ado, here’s the unabashed artifact of my self-amusement.
So why, why do I return to this trifle? Because it still amuses me. Wine reviews still amuse me. Wine enchants me. But the all-too-often pretentious squibs about cigar box aromas and compost-y leather beg to be mocked. And mockery — all in good fun, of course — is at the heart of this curious project. Midlife mockery. For what better therapy is there than learning to laugh at oneself?
In closing, today has been tainted with a bit of brooding. Harrumph. But no longer. Banish, ye, blues! Let laughter reign.