Reviews

LINDEMAN’S CAWARRA CABERNET MERLOT (2011)—Helping you avoid santorum

My Fellow Inebriates,

Photograph: Charlie Riedel/AP

As a Canadian bear I lack a thorough understanding of American politics and find myself a bit lost as I watch from the Northern sidelines. With all due respect, the US political scene is far more of a freak show than you find up here. The personalities are bigger, more extreme, more misogynistic, more openly devout, and more hatin’ when it comes to perceived sexual deviance. To say it’s interesting is an understatement.

But I don’t know what to do.

I mean, even if I’m Canadian, I want to root for somebody. But the contest seems to feature multiple strains of crazy and not much else. Whatever homophobic freak ends up winning the GOP leadership—I don’t want that guy to keep going and take the whole prize. (It makes me anxious when Stephen Harper has a philosophical bum-buddy in the White House.) So is it smarter to root for the most extreme, most batshit-crazy Republican wingnut in hopes that the US citizenry will slap his ass down? Or is that just dangerous? Is it possible that the most batshit-crazy motherf#cker is in fact what the country wants????!! OMG!

A disclaimer: I honestly don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m (a) a bear, (b) Canadian, and (c) perpetually wasted. I learned about santorum before I learned about Rick Santorum, if that gives you any idea how informed I am, or where I get my information. Some would argue I have no business even peeking at the American process. But what happens to the South matters to the Great White North, especially in the context of our purportedly small-c Conservative majority government. The more freaking weirdos running the circus down there, the more I fear the erosion of (you’d think) basic human entitlements such as medical care up here. Monkey see, monkey do—even if the monkeys in question don’t believe they’re related to monkeys.

What amazes me is how unhindered Rick Santorum has been by his name. Surely most of North America if not the English-speaking world has been exposed to the de facto definition of santorum: “that frothy mix of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex.” And yet Rick Santorum has surged, has come from behind, has frothed into the political limelight. Does it speak to the openmindedness of America that so many Republicans don’t mind mouthing the word santorum in their prayers to Jesus Christ on his behalf? Or is the Mitt Romney magic-underpants alternative just too weird compared to Santorum’s quotidian women hating and gay bashing?

What’s bizarre to me is the extent to which the battle has revolved around sexuality and reproduction. These crazy fundamentalists have thrown actual politics aside to hammer it out on issues that belong between private citizens in the bedroom. And no mistake about it—the discourse is discriminatory. Basically, if you are a person who, during sex, might perform a blowjob, you are second-class. If you are a woman or a gay man, your private life is very important to Mitt, Rick, and all their f#cked-up cronies. (Lesbians too—no dick action necessary to claim your share of oppression.)

But do they know how to avoid santorum? Not Rick Santorum, whom they apparently like quite a bit, but actual santorum, that frothy mix of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex? It’s important to know, because even if you are an ultra-conservative whackjob, you might favor the back door occasionally, or at least fantasize about it.

Is it just me, or isn’t politics supposed to be about the regulation of public affairs? Isn’t it supposed to apply mostly to economics and extend to public aspects of law, infrastructure, and international affairs? That’s why politics always seems so boring to kids, right? Because it’s basically too bureaucratic to capture a kid’s attention span. But it’s not just kids who have trouble focusing—adults seem uninterested in the banalities of politics. Better dial up the sex—that way people will tune in to the debates, thinking the debates are the debates when they’re a prurient aside. There’s a whole nation of people who are terrified of homosexuality, nodding their heads as Rick Santorum equates gay relationships with “child rape and dog fucking.” And they will vote for conservative nutjobs.

The important thing is to realize that santorum is not inevitable. If you are doing anal correctly, Dan Savage writes, there needn’t be any fecal frothiness.

So how do you do anal correctly?

I don’t have an operational anus, peeps, so I defer to anal-savvy friends for advice on proper assplay:

  • Know your body. Be aware how it feels inside when you have the all-clear.
  • Be hygienic. Don’t be afraid to probe in the shower.
  • If you’re absolutely worried, have an enema, but don’t overdo it because it will detract from your natural lubrication.
  • Be safe. Use a condom.
  • Use lots of lubrication.
  • Relax. Go slowly.
  • Practice, practice, practice. If you’re hetero-curious about assplay, try a dildo. They come in all sorts of designs and orientations, and for staunch Republicans who’d like to experience Something in the Ass as long as it does not resemble a male penis, it’s as easy as shopping.

BONUS ADVICE! Stay relatively sober. Any kind of sex gets sloppy when you can’t even stand. If you’re a back-door neophyte, you’ll probably want to relax but maintain that all-important body awareness.

Mediocre wines are perfect for attaining this degree of relaxation. The desire to finish a so-so wine is far less acute than with a high-quality wine, so consider purchasing in the $9 range. For instance, you might want to purchase LINDEMAN’S CAWARRA CABERNET MERLOT (2011) to preface your first anal adventure.

Perhaps it’s unfair to judge this very young wine on its current merits, but it’s a little unrefined. We’ve been on a bit of a LINDEMAN’S kick lately because my parents have gone on a strict budget and LINDEMAN’S fits their price point. The product selection is massive, ranging from $8.99 to 12.99 at our government booze shop, and so far each pick has been a good value. This latest cabernet merlot, however, is at the very bottom end of the price range, and it’s apparent.

Billed as “approachable” and “fruity,” LINDEMAN’S CAWARRA CABERNET MERLOT smells yeasty up front with berries behind. It’s medium-bodied, perhaps even a little thin, and somewhat generic—the sort of plonk that would do just fine at a barbeque or party where the focus is on the company, not the wine. The first glass is inoffensive, which is almost surprising at the price point, but unfortunately it’s one of those wines that doesn’t benefit from opening up. Aeration unlocks some unharmonious flavors and, above all, draws attention to the youth of the wine. It might be worth putting it away for half a year to see if it settles.

You might initially feel enamored with LINDEMAN’S CAWARRA CABERNET MERLOT, having acquired it so cheaply and discovered it to be mostly harmless. The second glass is a different, less tasty story, which is what makes this LINDEMAN’S product perfect for first-time anal. Being able to cap the bottle after one glass without too much regret means you’ll reap its relaxing effect without getting wrecked—increasing your chances of non-sloppy anal penetration and decreasing the possibility of santorum appearing.

Not that santorum’s that much of a big deal. I’d much rather have santorum on the bed than Rick Santorum in the bedroom. Wouldn’t you?

LINDEMAN’S BIN 50 SHIRAZ (2010)—Good enough for me, but is it good enough for Fluffy and the devil?

My Fellow Inebriates,

Should I be comforted or worried that my parents have opened up a joint bank account? They’ve gone nine years without sharing finances, but now that my dad’s closed up his business and taken a corporate job, they’re getting busy at the bank.

Does a shared bank account imply that a shift in control over household (and more importantly, liquor) spending is in the offing? More pointedly, is some sort of financial coup taking place, and does my mum have despotic plans?

I’m worried because, of the two of them, my mum is the frugal one. And if she gets even one rein over the banking, I’m concerned that she will draw up a budget of that might be more sensible than I’d prefer. She would totally do that.

I asked her if she is planning a takeover, and what sort of empire she envisions. She did not quite laugh at that. It seems we’ve been doing what much of North America has been doing over the last decade—racking up debt, living off credit, and biting our nails worrying.

Holy crap, I had no idea! I thought my parents were just jerks about keeping my inventory supplied. I thought they just didn’t care about my happiness. I had no idea they were actually tight on funds and considered liquor a secondary expenditure—a luxury even. And even now that my dad’s joined the corporate dark side, even with more regular money on the horizon, apparently we are in “emergency mode” for the foreseeable future. That’s what my mum said, at least, and she didn’t say it with a flashlight under her chin to freak me out. She really meant it!

This doesn’t really sit well. I’ve never heard my dad talk about emergency modes or budgeting or bookkeeping or any of that stuff. My dad is awesome.

But here’s my mum, two minutes after getting her mitts on a joint bank account, talking about ratcheting back the booze spending so we can—what? Save up for the end of the Mayan calendar? OMG! My mum is definitely not my favorite parent.

If you’ve been following, you know our liquor cabinet is crying out for Southern Comfort, Kraken Black, PAMA, Jagermeister, Kahlua, Kilo Kai, Bombay Sapphire, Grand Marnier and Bacardi 151. It’s imperative that we acquire these items, which means we need creative accounting, not the practical accounting my mum is proposing. If we cut back on luxuries such as rain boots, vitamins, Q-tips, dentistry, and similar useless items, we can have a kick-ass bar within a few months.

The other thing we need ASAP is a Ouija board. I need to find out if the new bear, Fluffy, is indeed possessed by the spirit of my deceased Granny.

Have you ever used a Ouija board?

It kind of freaks me out. But Rachel, who gave me the idea, says everybody used to own a Ouija board—at least until The Exorcist came out. In fact, you can get a Hasbro glow-in-the-dark one at Toys R Us for $11.99.

Okay, so let’s say I con my dad into buying a Ouija board. He might, because he’s unafraid of paranormal activity and because he likes shopping. But then again, he might decide to use the $12 to buy another bottle of LINDEMAN’S BIN 50 SHIRAZ (2010). Which I would applaud.

But if I could get him to buy both, what things could we ask the Ouija board? And what would it say?

Are there any spirits around?

YES

Is Granny present?

YES

Is Granny in Fluffy?

YES

Are we going to win the lottery?

NO

Will Dolly stay with Fluffy?

MAYBE

Would Toshiko Shek ever make a handbag out of Fluffy’s head?

NO

Should we drink the LINDEMAN’S BIN 50 SHIRAZ now?

YES

Is it a good wine for the price point?

YES

Are there plums and ripe blackberries on the nose?

YES

Is it medium-bodied with mellow tannins and subtle oak?

YES

Does it have lingering spices and a moderately long finish?

YES

Is one bottle enough?

NO

Is it a good idea for my parents to share a bank account?

MAYBE

Will they ever put me in the washing machine?

YES

Aaargghhh!

Maybe it’s not such a good idea to mess with the occult. Here’s what some consumers have to say about toy stores selling Ouija boards:

“yuck we dont want our kids having these and ruining there mental health”

First of all, even the devil won’t know what the hell you’re talking about if you don’t make yourself understandable. Feel free to use punctuation marks and differentiate between “there” and “their.”

“Only evil comes from Ouija boards. Only those ignorant of the spiritual world would expose themselves to such devices. Children are innocent and deserve our protection. This is not a toy for children! The CEOs of all retail stores need to ban such devices from their stores.”

I like the relationship between ignorance and innocence here. Only ignorance would allow you to dabble in the occult. But it’s important to preserve children’s innocence, by keeping them ignorant of Ouija boards.

“These are not toys and shouldn’t be treated as so!! Even being Pagan I wont allow a Ouija board in my house they are trouble!!”

Wow, I thought pagans were better at grammar.

“It is just card board and so are tarot cards. These things don’t not predict the future or talk to the dead. The devil just uses these things as tools.”

So are they okay then, or are they bad? The “tools” aren’t real, but the devil, who is apparently real, uses them. So confusing.

Dan Lacey: Michele Bachman eating a corndog. Tool of the devil? Michele certainly; the corndog perhaps.

“this is not appropriate! do we neeed another excorsist around? i mean really, do kids really want to talk to satan? this is a matter best left alone and i know what i’m talkin about. i had a ouija board and things terrorized my family for years. stop evil before it comes.”

Our kids totally want to talk to Satan. Especially the older one, who’s the more outgoing of the two.

“The problem is, is that it’s not a game, but the Devil’s doorway….They don’t seem to get that!”

Isn’t the devil banished to hell? He sure gets a lot of hall passes, doesn’t he?

“This game should be banned at once. These children are innocent and do not understand the lunacy of the devil and the consequences of using this board. I pray to God that This is taken care of ASAP!”

I knew the devil was bad-ass and all, but I didn’t know he was a lunatic. I just thought he used lunatics, such as Michele Bachmann, as his mouthpieces.

And finally, something intelligent. Here’s what Rachel, who used to sell Ouija boards, says about about them:

“I own one of the largest collections in the world; and the only creepy thing that has ever happened to me is my teenager.”

THE WOLFTRAP SYRAH MOURVEDRE VIOGNIER (2010)—Further proof of the Fluffy Problem

No matter what kinds of irresponsible shit I do, no matter how many hours I spend per day passed out or violating someone else’s personal space, my friends have my back.

I didn’t expect an outpouring of sympathy over my girlfriend Dolly’s defection to Fluffy, my deceased Granny’s teddy bear and probable golem. I failed Dolly in all sorts of ways—I even forgot about her for stretches. So I realize I deserved to get bounced.

But my friends rallied! Check it out, my fellow inebriates: my friend Scarybear, who doesn’t even really like me, had an idea.

OMG! Should I hit the “Like” button?

Except I really don’t hate Fluffy. He’s too out-to-lunch to warrant any antipathy. To give you an example of his coma state, the other night we were enjoying THE WOLFTRAP SYRAH/MOURVEDRE/VIOGNIER (2010), and I offered Fluffy some. He didn’t even move. What the hell?

A $15 Friday-night splurge, THE WOLFTRAP had caught my parents’ attention with its unusual blend of varietals, vinified separately and then combined as per South African winemaking law. Sixty-five percent syrah was the perfect answer to my fruit-forward jones, and the 32% mourvedre component promised to weigh in with earthy tannins and structure. And the bonus: 3% viognier for spice. The combo didn’t disappoint.

Although I never advocate cellaring anything unless you’re so made of money that you can afford other things to drink while your precious wines develop, I did find myself wondering what a year or two would do for THE WOLFTRAP. Yes, it was rich and heavy and leggy with generous black fruits, floral notes, spice, and it had a satisfying mellowness, but its oak ageing was quite conspicuous. I’d venture that—if one could handle waiting to crack this bottle—it would pay dividends in terms of maturity. Still, it didn’t lack for balance; it was an excellent casual sipper and a great find for the money.

If I were Fluffy and my new bear friend LB were offering me wine, I would have responded somehow—maybe nodded, advanced toward the glass, or something. But Fluffy was completely impassive.

AND YET. Since Fluffy arrived, Strange Things have been happening in the house. Noises. Cold spots. Girlfriend stealing.

I asked Dolly if it bothered her that Fluffy is probably possessed by Granny’s ghost. She said, “Isn’t he cuddly? He smells like Fleecy.” Punctuated with a giggle.

I think Dolly might be a sociopath. She is a known furvert (Type 4 furrie) whose fetish leads her to seek the sexual company of bears, but she nevertheless admires Toshiko Shek’s decapitated-bear purses. If there is a dichotomy here, Dolly is unaware of it.

Given Fluffy’s lack of response to Dolly’s affections and how undeterred she is, she might also be a necrophile. But I’ll stop right there because I don’t want to say anything bad about her.

I wish she’d come back. 😦

In the meantime, my friend Rachael had a tremendous idea:

I suggest trying a Ouija Board with Fluffy. Maybe you’ll be able to break through that catatonia and find the REAL reason that bear is so frighteningly quiet.

Would that work? We don’t have a Ouija board here at LBHQ; my mum has too much Catholic baggage to permit one in the house. So how can I get hold of one without her knowing???