I woke up today at 6:30AM to get the first pick of the season with Napa’s resident Pluck Meister – Kirk Venge and his posses of pickers. I was dubbed an honorary picker for the day, though I am angling for life-long picker status.The grapes, those lazy-bum-slackers, didn’t start to “wake up” until about 9:30/10ish. To their credit, once they did finally wake up they glowed and oozed of the sweetest sexiest juice you’ve ever smelt or tasted. And yes, grapes are sexy at any time of the day, unlike us human folk. I guess the grapes, like my former city self need a good night’s sleep in order to perform (performance=delivering bang up juice for some of the pluckiest wines in the world) at their peak. By the time the grapes woke up and joined the party we had already plucked 5 tons of those rolly polly suckers and the morning was still young. We were able to move that many mounds of grapes despite the Pluckster's tussle with Elvis, his S.O.B of a 4-wheeler. At the crack of dawn Elvis went all “rock-king” ego-manic, by attempting to show The Pluck Meister (Kirk Venge) who was boss, by tossing him in an end-over the handle bars. King of the Grapes Venge soon went on to show Elvis that the King of Rock is dead now. All I heard was “Elvis is coming at me!”. I saw the buggy flipped to its side and Kirk standing on all 4s. He, like a very good cat, landed on his feet with a smile. Elvis did not look so hot. He got a swift kick in the tires and finally got to work, but was promptly renamed Matilda. She offered a smooth and stable ride through the grape fields as we picked and plucked like there was no tomorrow. She became our chariot out in the field, hauling grapes to the people. The Pluck Meister’s wine phone rang no less than 30 times during our pickfest, all before the average Joe had even bothered to get out of bed. I trust I have wet your whistle enough to get out of bed and get yourself a glass of wine. I’m gritty, grimy, sweaty and sweet all at the same time. One lick confirmed that I taste good today. I blame it on the grapes. That’s all for now folks. Tomorrow will be another day of wine country heaven, a breed like no other. You haven’t lived until you’ve plucked a grape and had the insane good fortune of being ensconced in the sweet smell of freshly picked grapes.
LA artist Jason Lockyer is at it again. This time his work hits the road, so you don't have to. No longer are you relegated into a gallery to see his work you can view it from the comfort of your own car or sidewalk as he whizzes right on by. You too can wallpaper your car with some of his arty delights. That is if any of them are left after his latest exhibit, spawned from it's Germany-based rendition. Read more about it here.
Cari's Corner
Not that anybody seems to notice but I’m back to my slim, post-bud break fighting weight of a svelte 20.5 pounds. I’m tempted to drop down to 20 but that would require a major overhaul to my wine-swilling repertoire and I’m not ready to commit to such a change.
Columnist, novelist, food, wine, event critic, marketing and promotions. When someone recently told me to "get a life" I decided to get a "wineward" life instead. When I slurp wine, I feel fine, enough said. I intend to slurp and scribe as much as humanly possible. My background came of age slinging ads (interactive and traditional ad agencies) from the glamorous (Sony, ABC/Disney, WB), the cuddly (Purina), foodie (Kraft), techie (HP, Intel, AT&T, Apple), & publishing (Conde Nast, Time Inc., Hearst), film festival production, and the list goes on and on.
I woke up today at 6:30AM to get the first pick of the season with Napa’s resident Pluck Meister – Kirk Venge and his posses of pickers. I was dubbed an honorary picker for the day, though I am angling for life-long picker status.The grapes, those lazy-bum-slackers, didn’t start to “wake up” until about 9:30/10ish. To their credit, once they did finally wake up they glowed and oozed of the sweetest sexiest juice you’ve ever smelt or tasted. And yes, grapes are sexy at any time of the day, unlike us human folk. I guess the grapes, like my former city self need a good night’s sleep in order to perform (performance=delivering bang up juice for some of the pluckiest wines in the world) at their peak. By the time the grapes woke up and joined the party we had already plucked 5 tons of those rolly polly suckers and the morning was still young. We were able to move that many mounds of grapes despite the Pluckster's tussle with Elvis, his S.O.B of a 4-wheele
r. At the crack of dawn Elvis went all “rock-king” ego-manic, by attempting to show The Pluck Meister (Kirk Venge) who was boss, by tossing him in an end-over the handle bars. King of the Grapes Venge soon went on to show Elvis that the King of Rock is dead now. All I heard was “Elvis is coming at me!”. I saw the buggy flipped to its side and Kirk standing on all 4s. He, like a very good cat, landed on his feet with a smile. Elvis did not look so hot. He got a swift kick in the tires and finally got to work, but was promptly renamed Matilda. She offered a smooth and stable ride through the grape fields as we picked and plucked like there was no tomorrow. She became our chariot out in the field, hauling grapes to the people. The Pluck Meister’s
wine phone rang no less than 30 times during our pickfest, all before the average Joe had even bothered to get out of bed. I trust I have wet your whistle enough to get out of bed and get yourself a glass of wine. I’m gritty, grimy, sweaty and sweet all at the same time. One lick confirmed that I taste good today. I blame it on the grapes. That’s all for now folks. Tomorrow will be another day of wine country heaven, a breed like no other. You haven’t lived until you’ve plucked a grape and had the insane good fortune of being ensconced in the sweet smell of freshly picked grapes.
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