wine

REMY PANNIER SAUVIGNON BLANC (2010)—raising Fluffy’s ire

My Fellow Inebriates,

This time Fluffy left a big wad of toilet paper in the en suite toilet. I had no idea he would do something like that—I was so busy watching the lights and the oven to make sure he didn’t burn down the house that it didn’t occur to me that he would sabotage our plumbing.

Consider the facts:

  • There are three toilets in the house.
  • Of the three, the en suite one is only the second most likely to plug.
  • However, it is the least used by the kids, which means it hasn’t been force-fed any goldfish or Barbie clothes.
  • Ages ago we ran out of the pink breast cancer awareness toilet paper (which the kids loved so much they fed it straight into the bowl, half a roll at a time, exhausting their interest in the toilet).
  • In fact, my parents bought the kids some birdseed so they could feed actual animals instead of appealing to the toilet’s appetite with random objects.
  • I didn’t do anything to it; I am scared of the toilet.
  • My dad is away on a business trip, which means the toilet is not enjoying any half-hour marathon usage this week.

Which means there’s no reason for a mess of toilet paper to be swimming in it this morning! OMG! Is there nothing Fluffy won’t do to get our attention?

With a sinister presence like Fluffy in the house, I can’t even get comfortably drunk. Last night, for instance, we had guests over and I had the opportunity to get into some REMY PANNIER SAUVIGNON BLANC (2010). Before I committed myself to getting gooned, I had to ascertain that my mother wouldn’t. That way she could keep an eye on Fluffy.

Luckily she was feeling responsible, what with two small kids to get to bed, a party to host, and with Dad out of town—and I realized I could trust her and get plastered myself.

This was the wine my mum bought the other day. Since she’d had no idea how to choose a sauvignon blanc, our booze store consultant recommended REMY PANNIER, describing it as opposite to chardonnay on the white wine spectrum. As you know, I’d been exhorting my mother to purchase chardonnay specifically to placate the unrestful spirit inhabiting Fluffy who, we have reason to suspect, is looking for chardonnay. I’d like to be kinder than to suggest that my mum is an idiot; rather, she is recklessly continuing a pattern of doing exactly the opposite of what her mother (my Granny, presumably trapped inside Fluffy) would want. Now, Granny was pretty easygoing, so she’d probably be okay with this REMY PANNIER offering, but Fluffy is a different matter. Fluffy is showing distinct signs of being evil, and I thought it was important to provide chardonnay as a peace offering. BUT the wine consultant won my mother over with the pretty sauvignon blanc bottle.

Varietals notwithstanding, I had a bad-ass jones for some wine, so we opened it and poured. REMY PANNIER is a lovely light straw color in the glass, but what’s more striking is its aroma—ahhh! Such delicate fruit! Apricots, citrus, spring grass—all generously wafting from the glass.

But how does it taste?

Ahhh! REMY PANNIER delivers on those scents. It is zingy yet delicate, citrusy yet balanced, light and dry. I loved it, people.

At 12% alcohol and shared between several humans plus one animal, this sauvignon blanc couldn’t get anyone wasted. But that’s really its only downside. If you’re a white wine drinker who falls into the anti-chardonnay camp, it will especially appeal to you with its zesty, light character and zingy high notes.

But if you strongly prefer chardonnay, you might want to avoid REMY PANNIER SAUVIGNON BLANC and seek out something with heaviness and oak.

And if you are a freaky golem like Fluffy, apparently REMY PANNIER SAUVIGNON BLANC will anger you and prompt you to stuff the upstairs toilet full of Charmin.

Get thee behind me, Fluffy!

My Fellow Inebriates,

This morning my mum drove my dad to the airport for his first-ever business trip with the corporate dark side.

Like many unbalanced people, she did a thorough scan of the house, and then another identical one, looking for unlocked doors, appliances left on, liquor cabinet secured, etc. Through the window I watched them drive away. Then I went back to sleep. All the bears were asleep—Glen, Red Bear, Fluffy…

Mum dropped Dad off at the airport and Miss P off at Grade One. She and Miss V shared a ginger cookie at Starbucks and did the grocery shopping. Finally they came home.

And one of the stove burners was on.

It wasn’t a burner anyone had used that morning. They’d used other ones, but not that one. And there it was, on “Lo.”

Obsessive compulsives like my mother check for these things before they leave the house. They make sure they are last to leave, just in case anyone else has an idea about turning on all the lights or taps for no good reason. When you have OCD you look out for stove burners—even ones you haven’t been using.

My dad was incommunicado on a five-hour flight to Toronto. The kids…they would never touch the stove; my mum has frightened the living daylights out of them regarding fire. As for my mum…she didn’t use the burner, but she doesn’t specifically recall checking it, although she recalls checking three times that the front door was locked.

It has a little red light! She would have seen that! My mother is a freak about stuff like this. She couldn’t have left the house without seeing that!

Now, I was sleeping off some Malibu dregs, and although I did briefly get up to say good-bye to my dad and remind him to check in with Ravenskye for me on Facebook, I conked out straightaway after. So I don’t know about that burner…

But I have an idea.

I think it was Fluffy.

If you’ve been following, you know Fluffy is the Fleecy-marinated semi-comatose bear who arrived shortly after my Granny died. He was her bear, and some strange shit’s been happening since his arrival. Cold spots. Noises. Fearful kids.

I’d like to say this all seemed benign, but it was creeping me out. And now! Finding stove burners on is a seriously sinister development. Somebody is trying to get our attention—as though being offensively redolent of fabric softener wasn’t sufficient. Fluffy, I don’t know what you want, dude, but you are seriously giving me the willies.

So here’s what I proposed to my mum: buy some chardonnay. Granny and I had a history of occasionally drinking chardonnay together, particularly some nice unoaked ones and a Semillon blend once. We had some good chats over her chardonnay, and she didn’t mind me dipping into her glass.

My mum has company coming this week anyway, so she did visit the booze shop. But she didn’t buy chardonnay; she bought sauvignon blanc.

I told her she is messing with things we cannot even comprehend. She is thumbing her nose at powerful spirits by buying the wrong booze.

She said she prefers sauvignon blanc and that the wine consultant recommended it.

Good enough for me, but will it keep Fluffy out of mischief?

If I don’t post for a few days, it’s because he’s set fire to the house.

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?