Home

Alcohol

The job at the liquor store has afforded me proximity to alcohol on a regular basis, which has created a new familiarity with wines and spirits. So far it has not contributed to an increase in consumption, simply a diversification in what I drink: occasionally I’ll try some Buffalo Trace or Weller (I’ve had both the Green and the Old 107 (Red), and prefer the Green, with its less aggressive bite and lower alcohol content). Having learned how desirable it is, I bought a bottle of Blanton’s at one point, which I have yet to open. These bourbons are a step up from my old standby, Jim Beam, and I’ve learned to appreciate the difference.

On the wine front, I’m exploring reds at the lower end of the price range. I’m staying away from the California reds, even though my love of the movie Sideways attracted me to the cult of the CA pinot noir. My aversion has to do with a neurotic belief that Roundup and other chemicals are more widely used in the U.S. than in other countries. And something about the overwhelming popularity (as evidenced by what people buy at the store) of brands like Apothic (actually a Gallo brand, I discovered), Meiomi,  Coppola, and Josh wines make them less interesting to me.

Instead I’ve decided to try South American and French wines. I just bought a $9.99 Brazilian wine that Patrick recommended (yet to be tried), and I found the organic Argentinian malbec Bousquet, pictured below, to be a really nice tasting buy at a little over $10. The French Chateau Du Bois de la Garde was recommended by a Frenchman I struck up a conversation with and was, predictably(!), quite nice.

 

The other two pictured below, one French, one Argentinian, were borderline undrinkable, for me, at about the same price point. The French was more like $7 or $8. Harsh … bitter …. unsubtle. I was surprised about the Alamos, since it seems to sell well.

Working From Home

Am I part of the gig economy? I’m working from home now, free to ramble into my study in my pjs at 8:30 (but so far I’ve always showered, shaved and dressed presentably before starting the workday — it puts me in the necessary state of mind).

I like it, except for the pressing aloneness. There is email of course, and the occasional webex. Generally, the lack of human contact doesn’t bother me that much. And I seem to be disciplining myself ok. If I go to the bathroom, I don’t clock out of toggl.com, but I’m conscientious about doing so for longer breaks and, of course, lunch. If I need to run an errand in the middle of the day, it’s not generally a problem …. just set my jabber status to ‘Away,’ stop the toggl clock, and I’m good.

The Commuter et al

Middle-aged men in pressure-packed situations that give them one last chance to shine. That seems to be the common theme of the movies I’m watching …Left Behind and When Angels Sleep on Netflix, Liam Neeson in The Commuter (Amazon Prime) tonight. Terrible movies all, but apparently they have something I’m looking for. I wonder what. How much better spent would be the time needed to watch those movies if I was instead learning Javascript or ASP.NET, writing my novel, doing something social. Oh well, it seems to be something I need to do right now …. crashing on the couch after dinner, cuddled up with Kramer, a much lower maintenance companion than any woman, watching crap and dozing.

Flora’s poem

Dickens’ Flora, the awkward widow from  Little Dorrit who charmingly hangs onto her hope for romance with Arthur Clennam, quotes from a verse that is so Victorian, so quaint.

 
Oft, in the stilly night
Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me
— Thomas Moore (1779-1852)
 

A lightness

Sometimes
Before the snowfall
There’s a lightness, like spring
I feel it this morning
Is it in the air?
Or something about
My attitude
Towards life
Which, mood lifting,
Sees an opening
A chink of light
Between the old boards
And with it comes a breeze
So light, so light
Did I imagine it all?

Pats

And back to the Super Bowl they go. I cannot believe the fortitude New England’s beloved team showed today in beating the Kansas City Chiefs in the AFC conference championship. Brady … Edelman ….Gronk. These men must have ice water in their veins to have engineered the multiple comebacks required in this game. The final score was 37-31, Pats. I think this was the most exciting football game I’ve ever watched.

January 16, 2019

Already half-way through the first month of the new year. It went fast. This post is the sixteenth of the year, so I’m keeping pace with my goal (one a day), although I’ve been playing catch-up lately, sliding through with pathetically short entries. Still, maybe even the slightest entries will trigger some memories when I look back.

Oil delivery today. I can turn my heat up if I want to …all the way up to 60 degrees, yee-hah! Normally I keep it at 50 round the clock, which is crazy cold. I have been freezing the past few days, but I’m a stubborn son of a bitch. Exercise definitely helps … after 45 minutes on the bicycle trainer, I am plenty warm!

Tomorrow will be busy. I have a dentist appointment at noon, need to pay for the storage unit I’ve decided to take for a mere $45/month (in the strange old factory-looking storage facility on 6th street), and then plan to go dancing in Maine. All that around the remote writing work I’ll be doing.

Too many courses …

Lynda.com is a constant draw for me. I keep finding new courses, new areas of interest, that draw me away from what I promised myself I would try to learn this year, which was:

  • ASP.NET
  • Javascript

The new job has already drawn me into Git, and I’m about two-thirds of the way through Kevin Skoglund’s excellent “Git: Essential Training.” Of course the mere mention of bash scripting in the Git course sent me off beginning a course on that topic. I wish I was young enough that I had a chance of learning everything I’m interested in ….

Above the Arno

I came across this beautiful poem in my beat-up copy of the The New Yorker Book of Poems, copyright 1969, by May Swenson. An excerpt:

 
Then a tall
tower began to tell “F O U R,”
and another, with different timbre, spelled it
a minute later.  Another mentioned it for the third time
in harsh bronze and slow.
Still another, with delicate chime,
countered and cantered it.  By now, the sky had turned
della Robbia-blue, the Arno yellowed silver.

I stood between the covers of my “book” and heard
a donkey’s particular heels,
like syllables of a clear, quick word,
echo over the Arno.  Then came the scrape-clink
of milk cans lowered on cobbles.  And with the moon still
there, but transparent, the sky began to fill
with downy clouds–pink
as the breasts of Botticelli’s Venus–foretinting dawn.
 

(The “book” being the shutters at her window.)

LIttle Dorrit

I had forgotten what a human parade, constantly being added to, is a Dickens novel. There are humorous bits that provide some relief from the constant mnemonic challenges of trying to keep the characters straight, and, in the case of The Story of the Princess that Little Dorrit tells to Maggie (in Chapter XXIV, “Fortune-Telling”) arresting bits that bring one up short with the realization that there is an odd depth to Dickens, and a poignancy that seems so compelling, so … old-fashioned.