The weekend prior to Thanksgiving, 21 people came in to The Cave, a weekend record to be sure. Including the Wednesday prior, 30 people came through this year, 10 more than last year. The hike is mostly new people. Very Exciting!
Somewhere in the melee that was, this fell into my hands, a donation to The Cause of Infinite Suffering by a very generous-albeit-gallant gentleman too beautifully naive to realize this is a no-win endeavor. This is a no-win endeavor not because of his generosity or his wine, but because the sorrowful recipient of his gift is unworthy in epic proportion, growing more epic-y by the day.
To appreciate wine one needs to drink wine, the more the better and the better the better. And as much as one good wine can turn you on to wine forever, a bad wine can equally achieve its affect. And then I lost interest in wine.
This, of course, is ridiculous. Even a caveman can figure out the difference between a baby and its bathwater. So when this came into my hands over Thanksgiving weekend, despite the wall it was up against, I saw the wine that might just save me. I saw this because I've long seen this label and long been curious, so it already had captured my imagination. The rest was just cork.
Rusty and flabby, I opened this wine Thanksgiving eve. It was enjoyable minus wow, and I'll take that any day, every day. Then I went to bed. Around two a.m. I woke up and by three I was hopelessly wide awake. I was staring at the tele and Baby Boom came on. (sigh,) Fine, I'm in! Between three and six I had two more glasses of this wine and it was just a super-pleasant way to pass a night. I went to bed after six, got up at ten, and was very satisfied.
Bad wine can't make a good evening. It is dour misery. It ruins everything in its otherwise promising path. There should be laws! fines! tribunals! Think of how pretty your town will be after all that community service!
My life as a wino is pathetic, and at this point anyone still willing to try, I advance you all apologies. But that was a great night.