Mixed Bag

Going to be unplugged for 5 days, so I thought I'd update today with a status report.

Marshall Manning's Magnum Madness turned out to be a blast. All of that work to come up with a great bottle of wine, and I walk in and see that some jackass brought a big bottle of Sutter Home White Zin and plopped it down on the pinot table. Yeah, I laughed :-) It's always interesting to go to these things, especially when you only know 1 other person in the room (Marshall, who I met on the internet). I'm showing up for the wine and my wife is praying to god "Magnum Madness" wasn't a code phrase for some weird wine-lover's swinger party. Ironically, some people from Greensboro, NC had flown in for the event, so it looks like we've started our new friend network in NC already!

Started my Calc class on Monday night. It took me NINETY minutes to get to class from the office. WTF? Am I back in the Bay Area or something? I finally get to class (20 minutes late) and the instructor is in her early 20's. You know you're getting old when your first reaction is to wonder what you were doing with your life when your teacher was in diapers. Great opening lines "I noticed that a lot of you are taking this class (calc for business) to satisfy a calc requirement for Business School. Well, I know a lot about math, but not much about business. Let me take that back, I'm going after my real estate license." Lemme get this straight - you've got a class full of highly educated, type-A personalities and you tell them you're trying to get a real estate license? I know, I'm not trying to offend any real estate agents out there, but come on now. That's like saying "I want to be a porn star. I know a lot about sex, but it's usually with myself. And the camera adds 100 lbs to my rear." *screaming* I get this for 2 months, twice a week.

On the work side, the head of my department got fired. Nothing like having the firm managing partner address the group with "well, he's decided to move on, completely of his own volition" while he's standing next to her with that "who put the rabid badger in my pants" look. In the meantime, the rest of the department is standing around trying to figure out what the funny red circles painted on their foreheads are for. "Is that a bindhi on your forehead or are you happy to see me?" 54 working days and counting.

Magnum Overdrive

Well, it’s been a week and a half since the last post. Blame work, a sick kid, a sick wife and everything else under the sun. I know, next time I should post a tidbit to hold you over. Believe me, the thought crossed my mind, especially when I heard that Michael Jackson’s secret porn stash was a collection that included titles like “Plumpers” and “Big Women Touch Their Toes.” It would be have been easy – “Welcome to Coffee Blog. I’m busy now, so talk amongst yourselves. Here’s something to get you started: ‘Fat women in pornography – why bother?’” I know. Bad Drew.

Parents came up last night and the wife and I have a hall pass for the evening. On the schedule? Marshall Manning’s March Magnum Madness. Marvelous! Ticket for admission: a magnum. (For those of you wine challenged people out there, a magnum is a 1.5 L bottle. For those of you EXCEEDINGLY stupid people, that’s 2 bottles in one.) The twist here is that while I have a nice little wine collection, I don’t own a single magnum. And so the chaos begins.

Picking out a bottle for an “offline” (collection of wine snobs/aspiring alcoholics) is kind of a pain in the ass. It’s not like visiting the parents’ house on Christmas, where “anything pink” goes. If only it was that easy. Instead, you’re walking into a house filled with semi-pretentious whack-a-doos that spend the majority of their free time posting tasting notes on wine boards and arguing about mailing lists. (Did I mention I recently hit 575 posts at VinoCellar and am well on my way to hitting “barrel taster” status? *cough*) Going to these things is always an agonizing affair because I end up going through each and every bottle I own, trying to figure out which wine will play the best but won’t put a permanent dent in my wine collection. These gatherings are torturous affairs, because you’re expected to bring one of your own prized possessions, but end up drinking a half a glass, at most, of it. It’s impossible to bring something too good, given there will always be someone with that hard to find bottle, 6 cases total production, that was stolen from the cellars of George Latour by the team from Mission Impossible and then smuggled on a rowboat back to the states in a temperature/humidity controlled single bottle tote. Bringing a mediocre bottle is a risk too – remember who you’re dealing with here. “I saw that bottle that Andrew brought on sale at SAFEWAY last week. My God, how awful. I haven’t bought retail since Mondavi pissed away his estate with Opus!” Tie in the fact that I’m overly neurotic and spend hours on end rearranging my fridge by grape varietal, producer or vintage and you’ve got an obsessive-compulsive dream vacation. I’ve got a month and a half to agonize.

As I’m chewing my fingernails down to the bone trying to figure out where to pick up a good magnum, an email from AWineStore serendipitously arrives in my inbox. First line of the mail? 1999 Woodward Canyon Old Vines Cabernet Magnum - $100. I almost have a stroke. While 1999 isn’t a LONG time to age in a magnum, it’s long enough. Woodward Canyon is a great producer of WA cab, which means I get a quality wine and it’s going to be 20% cheaper than CA counterparts, so the quality/price ratio is going to be a lot better. Wine Spectator gave it a 92, so I’m doing cartwheels. $100 is the perfect price point for a magnum, as well. Woodward has brand recognition, so people can tell you’re not cheap, but you’re also not selling your car to get in to the party. I’m on Cloud 9. I call up and put the order in. Surprise, they can deliver it to my office (I’m visiting Seattle) at 5:30 that evening. This is too easy; it’s like buttah.

5:30 rolls around and I’m downstairs in front of the office. I’ve got 6:00 reservations with another developer at the Metropolitan Grill. Waiting. It’s 40 degrees outside, light drizzle. Of course, everyone and their monkey is leaving at 5:30 and every last one of them asks me why I’m waiting outside in the rain. “I’m waiting for someone to drop off a bottle of wine.” “You’ve got a dealer in Seattle? We’ve got people to help you with these things… Hah!” “Sod off.” Ten minutes go by. I’m starting to get irritated. I have no idea who I am looking for or what car they’re driving, so I’m checking out every one that drives by. The cop across the street has been looking at me funny and is undoubtedly trying to figure out if I’m working the corner of Fourth and Madison. Ten more minutes go by. I’m cold. I’m wet. I’m really irritated. I go back upstairs, pack up my stuff and head for the Met. As I’m running for the elevator, I hear “Andrew, please dial the switch board. Andrew, please dial the switchboard.” Sure enough, the wine delivery is here, 25 minutes late. Rush down to the lobby, grab the bottle, bring it back upstairs (yeah, I’m going to bring a magnum of wine over to the Met and explain to both my dinner date and the waiter why we’re not opening it) and run over 10 minutes late. Next morning, I unwrap all the tissue to check out the bottle. It’s not a 1999, it’s a 2001.
If you bought a 2001 Mustang and the car dealership gave you one of those goofy looking 2003 box-car Mustangs, you’d be upset, right? Well, same thing goes for wine. I’m spending $100 on a bottle of wine, and I want the that got the rave reviews, not the one that got rated in the high eighties. I call to complain. They’re very sorry, but will have the right bottle shipped to me next week. Fast forward to next week. They’re very sorry, but don’t have shipping containers for magnums. Need to find something to ship it in and they’ll have it next week. Fast forward to next week. Apparently every distributor in Seattle claims to have this bottle, but alas, nary a one can find it. They’ll have it to me by next week. Fast forward two weeks. Party is on Saturday. WHERE’S MY $#%@^@ WINE? Apparently, Jesus Christ himself came back and personally removed every last remaining magnum of 1999 Woodward Canyon from the face of the planet, so they’re going to have to find something else. Fine. Send me anything. Hell, I’ll even take the 2001; I just don’t want to show up without a bottle. The store gives me 2 options – a 1999 Heitz Bella Oaks or something else that was crappy and had a “drink by 2003” recommendation, which the store included in the email! If you seen any posts on Heitz recently, they’ve all started out with “How the mighty have fallen” or “Is it just me, or has Heitz descended to new lows?” That leaves me in a classic rock – Drew – hard place position. Heitz has a cool label, so Heitz it is. Friday afternoon, at 4:30, the bottle arrives. I started getting irritated about the whole travel fatigue thing, then I realized, hey, I’m only getting half a glass of this anyways!

Vertigo!

U2 is, hands down, my favorite rock group. No, I don't feel like going on in a Ratisheresque prattle for 3 hours about the meaning of the word "rock." U2 just gets it done. Now they're going on tour. First reaction is to put on my cobalt blue "The Fly" sunglasses, slick my hair back and jump on Ticketmaster.com and start hitting refresh. A week early. Yeah, yeah, sod off. I'm excited. Saturday, bloody Saturday finally rolls around and at 9:59 AM, I'm sitting in front of my machine, logged in and refreshing away on two screens. My buddy in CA is doing the same and his wife is actually logged on in Canada, trying. It's a Beautiful Day.

There are NO tickets available for the first 5 minutes.

Ticketmaster's site slows to a crawl. At this point, I'm giving better odds on a paraplegic rolling his way to a 100 yard dash finish faster than getting a response screen from Ticketmaster. All I get is "processing . . . 3 more minutes." Finally, after 3 more minutes - "We're sorry. There are no seats available at this time." Hello? I asked for 2 General Admission seats. I didn't get greedy. I'm not asking for seats next to each other. I just want TWO seats. Tried again. Same message. Panic sets in. 2 Best Available. "We're sorry. There are no seats available at this time." At this point my daughter is getting excited with me, and starts yelling "fuh-erz" over and over again while clapping her hands. I can only imagine the looks we'll get from her Sunday school babysitters if they realize what she just learned from daddy. Diversionary tactics - "Go get Elmo!!!" She's gone.

I spend the next 90 minutes refreshing the ticket selection. At the 7 minute mark, Ticketmaster offers me the opportunity to sit next to the rafters for a mere $90, where I can tap along on the roof to "Where the Streets Have No Name," because I'm so far away from the damn stage. Not going to happen. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. On the off times I actually DO get through, the seats are all row YY in the third level. TICKETMASTER CAN BITE ME. Other two people had the same result, with fewer hits on the third level seats than I did.

Imagine my surprise when I jump over to eBay that evening, to find the multiple brokers selling 8 different sets of tickets. WTF is that all about? I firmly believe that Ticketmaster sells off x number of tickets above face value to scalpers for resale. I hate them, but I really want to go to the damn concert. So, I put in a bid for $205 for 2 tickets that cost $49.50 a piece. Add in air fare (yeah, gonna be in NC when they finally roll around to playing in Portland) and I'm looking at $600 for the wife and I to go to a concert. It's no longer a beautiful day. I go back an hour later and some douschebag named BonoIsMyDaddy has outbid me and raised the total to $395. Needless to say, the closest I'm getting to the Vertigo Tour is going to be the concert DVD on Amazon.com. I hate Ticketmaster.

People Say the Stupidest Things

(alternatively titled "People are Just Stupid")

It bugs the hell out of me when people come up with witty little sayings to make other people feel better about themselves. I was walking by the receptionist at work today and heard a secretary tell her "Don't worry, dear. If you love something, you have to set it free. If it comes back, then it was meant to be." What the hell does that mean? If your boyfriend wants to go out and ravage a couple of 16 year old hookers in Guam, you should let him indulge, as long as he wants to come back and marry you? Hey, I'm all for that... if I'm the guy. But gimme a break. What does a dried up 45 year old secretary that reads $1.50 fluff novels on her lunch break know about love and romance? My advice for our fair maiden? Pretty clear - If he wants to go shack up with some other chick, kick him in the cockandballs and find someone that's better looking with more money.

Other sayings that bother me - "You're beautiful on the inside." Again, what the hell does that mean? You're pushing 250, have horse teeth and hallitosis and you've got a skin condition that rivals a lunar landscape, in terms of pocks and craters? Newsflash. People are superficial. If you're not moderately attractive on the outside, you can keep standing in front of the mirror and reciting Stuart Smalley aphorisms to yourself all day, but your fat ass is still going to be sitting at home in a bean bag chair on Friday night, eating a pint of Rocky Road ice cream smothered in marshmallow sauce until you find someone else that's beautiful on the inside to join you in your conquest to destroy the gene pool.

"Are we having fun yet?" That went out in the 80's. If I'm in a pissy mood (as in, right now) and things are going wrong, I don't want you to ask me a retarded question. No, I am not having fun right now. If you're perceptive enough to figure that out, why bug me even more? If someboday asks me if I am having fun yet when I'm clearly irritated and ready to break something, I'm going to take off my shoe and beat them to death while yelling "I'm having a blast!"

"I'm Rick James, bitch!" I was a huge offender here. But then I got over it. It's like people who still call you and say "Wassssssup!" Out of touch with culture. At least get up to speed with season two and get on the "Is Wayne Brady going to have to choke a bitch?" bandwagon.

"If they drink Merlot, I'm leaving. I'm not drinking any ^%#$ merlot." Why not just lead off with "Hi, I'm a pseudo-wine snob that likes to recite trendy movie lines so my friends will think I'm hip. Kick my teeth in, please." The irony here, is that any real oenophile wouldn't be caught dead saying that. Hello Pride and Petrus. Add "cheap" to merlot, and I'm right there with you. Instead, a bunch of yuppy pricks walk into a restaurant and prattle off their lines from Sideways, while giggling hysterically. The sommelier is laughing at you as he brings over the bottle of Turning Leaf you just ordered. "And then he said 'Goonie Goo Goo.'"

Last but not least, "Isn't that special?" My mother says this ALL the time. No, it's not special. No, it's not even noteworthy. Just don't say anything. Smile, nod your head, and leave me alone. If I say something mean or sarcastic, do you really think that saying "Isn't that special?" is going to make me see the error of my ways? Do you think I'm going to look back and reflect "Hrmmm, perchance, I was a bit harsh and quite possibly overreacted when I told the homeless person to 'get the f*ck away from my car before I pistol whip you"? 10:30. Time for a conference call. Are we having fun yet?

Financial Aid is a Joke

One of the most exciting parts of the Business School experience is applying for financial aid. Thankfully, the federal government has finally pulled its stone aged head out of its ass and made an online version of the application, which was a huge relief. I spent 2 hours filling out the paper version when I was getting loans as an undergrad.

The short version of this process - Answer 50 questions about your history, ethnic background, family and then take your 1040 and re-enter every single box on the system. Then, you hit the drug section.

• Have you been convicted of sales and distribution of drugs?
• If yes, how many times?
• What drugs were you distributing?
• Did you take any of the drugs you were distributing?
• If I had $1000, how many ounces of china white could I purchase? X? Heroin? Meth?
• Did Clinton inhale? Did Bush do coke? Should Dole do coke?

45 minutes later, the FAFSA calculator spits out your final score. After taking into account I'm giving up my job, my spouse is a stay at home mom that MIGHT make $10k next year, a 2 year old dependent and a cross country move, the government decided I should pay $27,000 towards my education next year. I put my coffee mug down and looked at the screen again. $27,000. Now, maybe they're trying to encourage me to fill out the drug distribution questions with 'Yes' answers next year, but I'm not quite getting how they arrived at $27,000. Am I supposed to be working 3rd and Peachtree in my spare 2 hours a week?

You're probably trying to figure out what this means. In a nut shell, the government determines whether or not you're eligible for grants and subsidized loans. As a caucasian male undergrad making $13k a year, I did not qualify for grants, so I sure as hell wasn't holding my breath now. The loans, however, are a life saver. You don't have to pay them while you're in school and the interest rates are low. Now, it looks like I might as well charge my tuition on my damn Alaska Airlines card; at least I'll get mileage points for it. You'd think I would get a bit of a break, given I'm going back to school to increase my earning potential, which will result in bumping me up into the next income bracket and paying more taxes. Hell, I'm going back for a graduate degree. It's not like the government is rolling the dice to see if I decide over spring break that I want to drop out of college, join a Hare Krishna group and hand out flowers at the airport. Pssst. Anyone need to score some crack?

And Then You Wait Some More...

This post I made was popular over at VC, so I thought I'd throw it up here as well. Background, for those non-winesnobs in the crowd. Bressler Cab is made by Bob Bressler, a really nice guy that has posted/semi-blogged every step of the process in starting his Napa vineyard. He's talked about everything from creating mailing list rules, blending, etc. If you're even remotely interested in wine or have had a glass or two too many and now think you want to start a winery, his insights are amazing. Even more interesting is watching how he has let his client base influence his decisions - call it the ultimate ongoing client survey. As expected, his mailing list is completely slammed and he's started a wait. My post was in response to people prattling on about receiving their bottles, but not being able to open them for two weeks because of travel fatigue.
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Great. I've got three bottles here and now I have to stare at them for 2 weeks to reduce "travel fatigue?" I firmly believe the whole wine by mailer process is designed to torment people. VC just makes it worse. Here's what happens: 2001 Bressler Release

• Early 2004 - Bressler posts "Wow guys, this is going to be amazing. Even better than the 2000 vintage that you're falling all over yourselves to get. I'll ship next March" The seed is planted.
• Mid 2004 - DavidN, couple of others post. "Bob was right. At the no-label tasting at Hamburger Mary's we got a sneak peak and it's out of this world." Now the envy sets in. I spend 3 hours looking for franchising opportunities in home entertainment. (DavidN owns Western Appliance)
• Summer 2004 - Bressler starts posting again. "I'm trying to decide whether or not I should ship anything to my mailing list or just drink it all myself. At minimum, I'm going to split the list between people who bought the first release and the rest of the unfortunate mass out there clamoring for my wine." Panic sets in. But Bob, I didn't know about VC until July 2004. Drew = Unfortunate Mass.
• Fall 2004 - "So I had Robert Parker over to the house and he lost his notes on my wine" RP is reviewing Bressler? *wiping the drool off my chin*
• Winter 2004 - By this point, half of the VC board has now tried the 2001 and posted about it. "Bressler treated our small group of 300 people to an impromptu tasting out of the back of of an umarked van on the Silverado Trail. Sipping the Bressler was a strangely erotic experience, with the currant and cassis flavors exploding in my mouth like dawn on the first day of creation."
• At this point, I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm in the second half of the email list and *might* get the opportunity to buy if the gods smile favorably on me and I stop hiding the fat lady's donuts at work. Karma sucks.
• The First Wave - 95% of VC gets their offer by email and posts about it. "Wonderful system, Bob. I bought my 3 cases of wine with ease. Oh, just kidding, I meant 3 bottles." Hahahaha, jackass, you're a real comedian. The other 5% (myself included) posts "Is there any left?" Response from DavidN - "No, I built my second wine cellar (featured in this month's Better Castles and Wine Cellars) and I plan to fill it entirely with Bressler and Loring."
• The Second Wave - I order approimately 3 minutes after receiving the email. Yes, I post about it.
• The Wait - Tick Tock, Tick Tock. Tracking numbers? I don't need no tracking numbers. You don't have to show me no stinkeen' tracking numbers. I just want my wine.
• The Wine Advocate Arrives - An 89 rating? But the 02 is a 92-94? Bah. RP is an obnoxious francophile, anyways. What the hell does he know? If I was flipping my bottles, I'd care. I'm not. I'm drinking them. Speaking of flipping things, here's one for you, RP.
• The Arrival, Part 1. I'm late for a plane home and the cell phone rings. "Honey, the FedEx guy is stacking boxes up on the porch. What the HELL did you order?" Oops. Kistler and Bressler on the same day. Must. Get. Home.
• The Arrival, Part 2. "Where are the boxes?" Great to see you too, dear. Why don't you go hug your daughter. "Why? Does she have the boxes?" You are hopeless. "Actually, the exact opposite is true. I'm hoping for a shipping error and 3 extra bottles damnit." Are you gearing up for the couch tonight? "Well, Lost, Alias and West Wing are on... Thank God for TiVo, eh?"
• Reading the bottle - It's in my hands now. What's this gold sticker thing? *mutter* I wonder if I could open JUST ONE. Travel fatigue? What's that all about. Damn bottle sits in a styrofoam box and gets moved. I wish I could travel like that. Bah. Two weeks to go...