I took a three-day weekend and headed up to the Santa Ynez Valley for some quality wine tasting and a relaxing time at a nice B&B with JP this past weekend. We were set to leave at lunchtime on Friday, hit a winery or two, then check-in at the Santa Ynez Inn for the weekend.
As happens with the best-laid plans, JP's flight from Tokyo was delayed, then the flight from San Francisco to Santa Barbara cancelled. The poor guy had to fly in to Orange County (a few hours south) and finally arrived by limo in Oak View around 8:30 pm. I don't think a limo from Orange County has ever show its headlights in Oak View and the driver even said, "I didn't know people in California lived like this". Must have been the goats. Or the trailer. Either way, we ended up arriving in Santa Ynez around 10:00, hit the remote on the fireplace, donned our comfy robes and slippers, ordered some wine and room service, and settled in to our room.
I have traveled a bit, even stayed in places as nice as the Four Seasons, but this B&B takes the cake. They only have 14 rooms and service is their thing. The room had a fireplace, jacuzzi, and private garden patio. If you pick up the phone for something they deliver it within a few minutes. Needless to say, if you are looking for a nice, romantic weekend in the wine country and have about $370 per night to spare, I highly recommend the Santa Ynez Inn. I also recommend skipping their restaurant and walking the few blocks to the Red Barn - yes, it looks like a red barn but it has excellent food and service and is filled with colorful locals.
Back to the point of this post, if there is one. There was only one winery I really wanted to make sure to go to, Sanford Winery. It generally has great pinot noir and only has 5 or 6 people in the tasting room at any given time. The owners are nice, down-to-earth folks and I always buy a case of wine from them when I'm there. The last time I was there I talked straw bale houses with the owner for a good half hour while playing with his baby turtles. Not so this trip.
You see, Sanford was featured in the movie Sideways, and is now on everyone's radar. That's good for Sanford, but bad for it's old, faithful customers. Not that my case a year makes or breaks them, but it is nice to feel special every now and again.
We pulled up to Sanford to find the parking lot full of rental cars, tour buses and limos, usually seen mostly at the bigger wineries like Firestone and Fess Parker. Apparantly, the tour companies are wisely capitalizing on the movie and have created things like the Sideways Wine Tour. Who can blame them?
One of the problems is that Sanford has a small tasting room, with only a bit of overflow outside. The staff admitted that they didn't even have enough glasses to supply all the recent visitors and that they had gone from 50-100 visitors per weekend day to 300+ pretty much overnight. They only had four wines available for tasting, two of which were sold out. Our fellow tasters were taking pictures of Chris, the tasting room manager featured in the movie, and talking non-stop about the movie, rather than the wine. I was becoming disenchanted with the ambience and, knowing I don't make it up there often and that their pinot is consistently the best in the valley, I went inside to buy my usual case. Imagine my surprise when I learned that they were now charging $50 per bottle for the previously $22-28 per bottle pinot, and no longer offering discounts on a case! I can understand cashing in when you can, but this is the first time Sanford's pinot left a bad taste in my mouth. I reluctantly bought a $50 bottle of pinot and we were on our way. It was good, but a sommelier I am not and $50 for a bottle of wine still seem like a lot - especially when you consider the fact that I store my wine in the out of service dishwasher.
Fortunately, we went in search of a nice, light German white and ended up at Koehler Winery, a place niether of us had been. Sure, there was one tour bus out front but they had wisely made a separate tasting area for tour groups. We were able to sidle right up to the ubercool metal bar and begin tasting the nine wines they had for the day. We even got a 10th tasting of a reserve Riesling not usually offered at tastings. The hostesses were nice and knowledgeable, the wine very good, especially the cabernet sauvignon and pinot noir, and the prices excellent - scandalously so on cases. We ended up leaving with more than two cases of wine and a determination to come back. The lady at Koehler admitted that many of the local wineries were raising prices due to the popularity of Sideways but said Koehler wanted to stay true to its customers and attract new folks so it was doing the opposite - offering excellent wines at a discount. Seems like Koehler has its head on straight.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
There's nothing like...
...walking down Palm Canyon Boulevard with a man wearing red pleather hobbling along in a broken stilletto on a warm spring night.
Friday night I found myself beer mug in hand, donning lace lingerie and running shoes, trotting through downtown Palm Springs with about 150 similarly skantily clad imbibers. It was the Friday night lingerie run to kick off the annual Betty Ford Rehab Run for the Hash House Harriers.
After a seemingly endless 3.5 hour drive to Palm Springs, JP and I arrived about an hour before the run was to begin. He, being a man unwilling to wear a dress, donned see-throughish boxer shorts and a silk robe. I, a woman unwilling to wear men's underwear, primped a bit then slipped into a black lace teddy with just a smidge of red satin and some red and black lace panties underneath. My theory on the panties was that we would be sitting on numerous barstools throughout the evening and I just didn't want my cheeks getting contaminated. I am, as you know, quite the conservative.
The run was similar to the recent LA marathon except in lingerie and with beer stops along the way. Just imagine a throng of people in various states of undress jogging and walking from pub to pub in search of beer. The cool thing about Palm Springs as a venue is that although some folks vacation there, they are generally older folks and do not bring children with them. This means you are less likely to scare the kids, and the adults generally card-carrying members of AARP, get a big kick out of it. We even managed to pick up some tourists along the way.
After the run we converged upon a bar where food was catered, beer on tap, and a DJ spinning tunes. Blurred highlights from the evening were a runner from Arizona who recognized me from photos taken last year at a similar event in Mexico, which seemed a bit stalker-strange-like to me, and dancing with a tall man who soon announced he was "at half mast" from dancing with me (I thought I felt something on my thigh!) and then offered to move me to Pasadena to become his kept woman. What kind of kept woman would I be if I were kept in Pasadena? It sounded like the suburban rung of being kept so I politely declined. Had he said San Marino, I may have considered it.
The more clear highlights, the ones you boys will like, occurred first when O and her husband P came to meet me. As I leaned in to give P a kiss, O pulled my right breast out of my lingerie and began sucking the nipple. P just kept talking to me as if nothing was happening. Then O put the breast away and thanked me. Later in the evening, T and her man S approached me, commented on my stomach and outfit, and then T took out the very same breast and repeated O's maneuvers while S looked on with glee. S and T continued to follow me around all evening, even into the restroom at one point, I believe in hopes of a threesome or something. No, it didn't happen.
The hashers had taken over the local Comfort Inn for the weekend and most members could be found poolside the next morning. It's always a good thing to find a margarita machine and three kegs flowing at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. Even more rewarding is seeing the same folks you saw close down the bar the previous night availing themselves of the libations mere hours later. I abstained as I intended to actually do the run that afternoon. I was, however, highly entertained watching R and S, who had met met less than a week before, argue over whether or not he should reverse his vasectomy because she wanted children. I was amazed that five days into knowing someone such a topic would arise, and even more amazed when he almost agreed to it. Ninety days is my rule - it takes 90 days to know whether a person is worthy of invasive surgery. Keeps me out of all kinds of trouble.
Saturday afternoon's run ended up being a challenging 5.3 miles in the mountains. I didn't drink all day but did have a beer at the summit. It was a strange beer. It was a Budweiser in a pint-sized aluminum can shaped like a bottle. It looked like a bottle, but was aluminum. There are many things wrong with this product. First, a can is a can and a bottle is a bottle and never the two shall meet. Second, no one, and I mean no one, drinks Bud by the pint. In fact, there should be a law that you can't order beer in a pint glass unless the beer is darker than your own urine. I'm going to start drafting that legislation right now. Finally, you just shouldn't drink Bud.
After the run I went to the hotel, cleaned up, made myself a cocktail, and returned to the local American Legion hall, where our party for the evening was to take place. I don't know if you've ever been to an American Legion bar, but it usually consists of WWII, Korea and Vietnam vets who like to sit around telling war stories and grumbling about the plight of society and the good old days. Don't get me wrong, they are a lovable lot. And they loved having the hashers at their bar. Think about it, a couple hundred women in short skirts and tight shirts being as friendly as can be, dancing and having a good time. No wonder they invite the hashers back year after year.
The Saturday night activities include skits, awards, dinner, more beer, and a live band. I just remember being by the bar and seeing one of the vets, about 80 years old, suddenly shoot up from his barstool and yell "Damnit Jim, they are having sex up there!" while pointing at the lap dances going on on stage. His friend replied, "This is better than Viagra". Yes, Jim, it is.
Friday night I found myself beer mug in hand, donning lace lingerie and running shoes, trotting through downtown Palm Springs with about 150 similarly skantily clad imbibers. It was the Friday night lingerie run to kick off the annual Betty Ford Rehab Run for the Hash House Harriers.
After a seemingly endless 3.5 hour drive to Palm Springs, JP and I arrived about an hour before the run was to begin. He, being a man unwilling to wear a dress, donned see-throughish boxer shorts and a silk robe. I, a woman unwilling to wear men's underwear, primped a bit then slipped into a black lace teddy with just a smidge of red satin and some red and black lace panties underneath. My theory on the panties was that we would be sitting on numerous barstools throughout the evening and I just didn't want my cheeks getting contaminated. I am, as you know, quite the conservative.
The run was similar to the recent LA marathon except in lingerie and with beer stops along the way. Just imagine a throng of people in various states of undress jogging and walking from pub to pub in search of beer. The cool thing about Palm Springs as a venue is that although some folks vacation there, they are generally older folks and do not bring children with them. This means you are less likely to scare the kids, and the adults generally card-carrying members of AARP, get a big kick out of it. We even managed to pick up some tourists along the way.
After the run we converged upon a bar where food was catered, beer on tap, and a DJ spinning tunes. Blurred highlights from the evening were a runner from Arizona who recognized me from photos taken last year at a similar event in Mexico, which seemed a bit stalker-strange-like to me, and dancing with a tall man who soon announced he was "at half mast" from dancing with me (I thought I felt something on my thigh!) and then offered to move me to Pasadena to become his kept woman. What kind of kept woman would I be if I were kept in Pasadena? It sounded like the suburban rung of being kept so I politely declined. Had he said San Marino, I may have considered it.
The more clear highlights, the ones you boys will like, occurred first when O and her husband P came to meet me. As I leaned in to give P a kiss, O pulled my right breast out of my lingerie and began sucking the nipple. P just kept talking to me as if nothing was happening. Then O put the breast away and thanked me. Later in the evening, T and her man S approached me, commented on my stomach and outfit, and then T took out the very same breast and repeated O's maneuvers while S looked on with glee. S and T continued to follow me around all evening, even into the restroom at one point, I believe in hopes of a threesome or something. No, it didn't happen.
The hashers had taken over the local Comfort Inn for the weekend and most members could be found poolside the next morning. It's always a good thing to find a margarita machine and three kegs flowing at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. Even more rewarding is seeing the same folks you saw close down the bar the previous night availing themselves of the libations mere hours later. I abstained as I intended to actually do the run that afternoon. I was, however, highly entertained watching R and S, who had met met less than a week before, argue over whether or not he should reverse his vasectomy because she wanted children. I was amazed that five days into knowing someone such a topic would arise, and even more amazed when he almost agreed to it. Ninety days is my rule - it takes 90 days to know whether a person is worthy of invasive surgery. Keeps me out of all kinds of trouble.
Saturday afternoon's run ended up being a challenging 5.3 miles in the mountains. I didn't drink all day but did have a beer at the summit. It was a strange beer. It was a Budweiser in a pint-sized aluminum can shaped like a bottle. It looked like a bottle, but was aluminum. There are many things wrong with this product. First, a can is a can and a bottle is a bottle and never the two shall meet. Second, no one, and I mean no one, drinks Bud by the pint. In fact, there should be a law that you can't order beer in a pint glass unless the beer is darker than your own urine. I'm going to start drafting that legislation right now. Finally, you just shouldn't drink Bud.
After the run I went to the hotel, cleaned up, made myself a cocktail, and returned to the local American Legion hall, where our party for the evening was to take place. I don't know if you've ever been to an American Legion bar, but it usually consists of WWII, Korea and Vietnam vets who like to sit around telling war stories and grumbling about the plight of society and the good old days. Don't get me wrong, they are a lovable lot. And they loved having the hashers at their bar. Think about it, a couple hundred women in short skirts and tight shirts being as friendly as can be, dancing and having a good time. No wonder they invite the hashers back year after year.
The Saturday night activities include skits, awards, dinner, more beer, and a live band. I just remember being by the bar and seeing one of the vets, about 80 years old, suddenly shoot up from his barstool and yell "Damnit Jim, they are having sex up there!" while pointing at the lap dances going on on stage. His friend replied, "This is better than Viagra". Yes, Jim, it is.
Monday, March 07, 2005
My future husband?
This is an e-mail I received from PDM the other day:
Notwithstanding the poor spelling and grammatical errors, common to persons lacking blood flow to the brain, the e-mail appears to be about something other than blogging...Just replace the word "blog" with the word "sex" and I think we can all see where PDM is really having problems.
Alas, poor PDM, I cannot solve that problem for you. Might I suggest a blow-up doll or a trip to Palm Springs this weekend where I hear everyone is bound to get some - even those who've gone without lately...
For the non-hashers out there, this weekend is the annual Betty Ford Rehab Run in Palm Springs wherein several hundred hashers from California and elsewhere converge upon the desert hamlet of Palm Springs for a weekend of running, lingerie contests, parodies, debauchery, and beer guzzling. Yes, yours truly will be in attendance. And yes, something blogworthy is sure to happen.
As for the lack of blogging, I will try to get back into it if you think it will save our relationship PDM.
I am very disappointed in your blog lately. In fact it seems to that you are neglecting it. What happen to the good old days when bloged at least four times a week. I hate do say the words, but, I need more blog. So you better start getting out more after work and on the weekends; so I can have something to look forward to in the upcoming weeks when I am at my desk twiddling my thumbs bored out of my mind.
I NEED I NEED
Notwithstanding the poor spelling and grammatical errors, common to persons lacking blood flow to the brain, the e-mail appears to be about something other than blogging...Just replace the word "blog" with the word "sex" and I think we can all see where PDM is really having problems.
Alas, poor PDM, I cannot solve that problem for you. Might I suggest a blow-up doll or a trip to Palm Springs this weekend where I hear everyone is bound to get some - even those who've gone without lately...
For the non-hashers out there, this weekend is the annual Betty Ford Rehab Run in Palm Springs wherein several hundred hashers from California and elsewhere converge upon the desert hamlet of Palm Springs for a weekend of running, lingerie contests, parodies, debauchery, and beer guzzling. Yes, yours truly will be in attendance. And yes, something blogworthy is sure to happen.
As for the lack of blogging, I will try to get back into it if you think it will save our relationship PDM.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
The end of an era?
Just off the phone with L, a friend who has been in Florida visiting relatives for the past week or so. Naturally, she called to complain about her trip.
L is one of those friends that makes you sometimes wonder why you are friends with the person. She is in her early 40's, hasn't been on a date in more than 10 years, constantly blames her mother for all her woes, takes all things personal or as an affront to Jewish people, and has recently proclaimed that she can't go out to happy hour with me anymore because all the guys talk to me and it makes her feel bad about herself. That's right, just before she left on her trip she blamed me for her low self-image because her neighbor, that she obsesses over, asked her how I was doing. She took that to me he was interested in me and even went so far as to accuse me of planning to steal him away. You can read my impressions of M in the previous posts, Single Night Out and Cheese Pie (July 2004) and Canned Cherries (Dec. 2004). Needless to say, I am not impressed with or the least bit interested in M. Besides, I would never even indicate that I liked a man if I thought L had even the slightest interest in him because she never likes anyone and really needs some male interaction (10+ years, folks!).
So L calls me today and immediately begins whining and complaining about her trip, her life, her mother, and now her aunt. Then it hits me - L doesn't want to be happy. She doesn't know how to be happy and resents other people that are happy. Really, L has no reason to be unhappy - she owns her home, is self-employed, and has wonderful me for a friend, among others, of course. I think she just likes being unhappy and discontent. So she's a downer with no excuse for being a downer.
L droned on and on about her made-up problems. They are made up because, let's face it, if you never do anything or take risks, you probably won't encounter too many troubles in life, right?
On my drive home I realized that listening to L had put me in a bad mood. That she sucks the life out of me and that she really doesn't give much back as a friend. And with her recent declaration that I make her feel bad about herself by just being me, I decided that I am done with L as a friend. So there you have it, I'm done with L. Now I just have to break up with her.
L is one of those friends that makes you sometimes wonder why you are friends with the person. She is in her early 40's, hasn't been on a date in more than 10 years, constantly blames her mother for all her woes, takes all things personal or as an affront to Jewish people, and has recently proclaimed that she can't go out to happy hour with me anymore because all the guys talk to me and it makes her feel bad about herself. That's right, just before she left on her trip she blamed me for her low self-image because her neighbor, that she obsesses over, asked her how I was doing. She took that to me he was interested in me and even went so far as to accuse me of planning to steal him away. You can read my impressions of M in the previous posts, Single Night Out and Cheese Pie (July 2004) and Canned Cherries (Dec. 2004). Needless to say, I am not impressed with or the least bit interested in M. Besides, I would never even indicate that I liked a man if I thought L had even the slightest interest in him because she never likes anyone and really needs some male interaction (10+ years, folks!).
So L calls me today and immediately begins whining and complaining about her trip, her life, her mother, and now her aunt. Then it hits me - L doesn't want to be happy. She doesn't know how to be happy and resents other people that are happy. Really, L has no reason to be unhappy - she owns her home, is self-employed, and has wonderful me for a friend, among others, of course. I think she just likes being unhappy and discontent. So she's a downer with no excuse for being a downer.
L droned on and on about her made-up problems. They are made up because, let's face it, if you never do anything or take risks, you probably won't encounter too many troubles in life, right?
On my drive home I realized that listening to L had put me in a bad mood. That she sucks the life out of me and that she really doesn't give much back as a friend. And with her recent declaration that I make her feel bad about herself by just being me, I decided that I am done with L as a friend. So there you have it, I'm done with L. Now I just have to break up with her.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Stigmata
Botswana, a nation plagued by HIV (1/3 of the adult population has tested positive) recently had its first Miss HIV Stigma Free beauty pageant to reduce the negative image being HIV positive carries with it in Botswana.
I wonder if Trump is bidding on the rights to this one? With the rise of HIV worldwide it may be wise for him to get in on the ground floor.
I wonder if Trump is bidding on the rights to this one? With the rise of HIV worldwide it may be wise for him to get in on the ground floor.
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