Saturday, May 22, 2010

Whining about wine.

Responding to

Another night, another two or three casks of red ridge claret. They do drag on, these tuesday-thursday evenings, squirting $12 boxes into $36 dollar decanters for $6 undergraduate political phillosophy majors out to impress their design-studies delittentes. Suppress a sigh and move on. The less they know about the anti-freeze infused fermented grape juice the more they might wax lyrical about the dirty cafe ambience, the deeper meaning they might inscribe to the artsy flickering-crucifix-filament electric candles that adorn the walls and the table-top electric candelabrae. It's not really a post-Nietzchean commentary on the withering lens of ecclesiatical judaism turned in upon itself, pal. I happen to know the guy that makes them for two bucks apiece out of his girlfriend's parent's unused basement workshop to support himself through the harsher winter months. If the poppies grew wild at the roadside all year round, he probably woudn't even bother.