Sideways

Wine tasting in Solvang and Los Olivos!

"If they order Merlot, I'm leavin'. I am NOT drinking any fuckin' Merlot!" (I think I actually did have some...somewhere.)

When I think of wine tasting, I think of an ostrich farm, naturally.

Emu Emo.

Nicole, Lady of the Ostriches

Play Freebird!

I swirled mine a little too vigorously.

The patio at Lincourt/Foley vineyards.

Nicole, a little snokkered at said vineyard.

This was a tough guy that worked at the Foxen Vineyards tasting room. Touch that tennis ball at your own peril.

I love pictures like this

A Cry For Help

Please, friends, help me help myself. I use the word "lovely" faaaaaar too much.

"How's it going, John?"
"Lovely, how are you?"

"Hey John, how have you been?"
"Lovely, thank you."

"How was your weekend?"
"Lovely."

I don't mean to do it. At this point, it's an instinct. But I need to deny it and change it. If I were someone else, it would drive me insane that my answer to any question was the same word, much less that word being "lovely."

If you catch me saying the word, please...call me on it. I can't do this without your support.

WTC, OC, Oh.

I was talking to someone at work earlier this week who was saying how enthused she was to see Oliver Stone's "World Trade Center." Her reason was that she wants to be reminded. She said she thinks we all should be reminded. My thing is...I haven't forgotten. It was five years ago. I don't need to be reminded. Does anyone feel they need to be reminded at this point?

I enjoy finding new music, especially from emerging artists I have never heard of. What's beginning to get on my nerves is that so often when I find something new, it's already been pimped by "The OC," "Grey's Anatomy," or some other hip television show. It says it on their website if it doesn't have a big sticker proclaiming it on the cd packaging. I understand why it's there. I do. But I don't like it. Imagine you are out wandering in the woods and you happen upon a hidden trail. You follow it and find it to be quite a gem. It leads to a beautiful waterfall, hot springs, and cave. At this point, you're having a nice little Saturday, a real genuine, unique experience. You walk inside the cave only to find the words "The OC Was Here" spray painted in hot pink on the cave walls. It doesn't ruin the day or anything. The trail is still the trail, the cave is still the cave, but it's just kind of like.....Oh.

Say you meet some girl (or guy) and you think they're the cats pajamas. You start getting all excited and falling in love and thinking about the future (prematurely, of course) and then you find out they are a porn star. Oh.

Keep your damn stickers off my damn CDs! I don't give a frog's fat ass if The OC pimped a song off this album to tenderize a sad montage with acoustic guitar and whispery vocals! If I like it, I like it and if I do, I don't want to associate it with fictional spoiled Newport Beach teenagers.

la la la

There is a guy I work with who for at least 9 consecutive months has 1) worn a polo shirt and 2) had his lunch delivered to his next, never leaving the building all day.

There is a girl I work with who wears the same white skirt no less than 3 times a week.

Why do I care? I don't. Wear whatever you like. Wear the same thing for 2 years straight if ya like...but don't think nobody notices.

I watched "The Family Stone" last night. Not really a Christmas movie but the setting was a small New England town at Christmas. I know it's August, but what can I say? It was nice.