FALERNIA CARMENERE RESERVA (2007)—Better than pain meds (I think)

My Fellow Inebriates,

The grandfather I never knew would have been 80 years old today, something I wouldn’t have learned without snooping in my mum’s e-mail box, where I found an attachment from his sister, my great aunt (who doesn’t know I call her that). The picture she sent dated back to 1943, when my grandfather was 11 in Blitz-torn London. In the event of an invasion by Hitler, the poster was to be distributed to the population.

Sorry, Fluffy, you need more than a vacant stare to keep a girlfriend like Dolly.

I’ve had grandparents on the brain lately, what with Fluffy Bear continuing to haunt our house, albeit with attenuated efforts. I had to admit, reluctantly, that Fluffy hadn’t clogged the toilets with his mind; our cheap toilets just object to the products of constipation. Not only is the ghost of Granny loosening her hold on Fluffy; my girlfriend Dolly has also lost interest in his catatonic personality, which of course makes him seem more benign now. And damn, is he ever cuddly.

In other grandparental news, my Nana (she doesn’t know I call her that) got a new knee today. What a fantastic age to be alive, when you can replace your worn-out knee with a mechanical one. It gives me hope that by the time my liver is fully pickled, I’ll be able to order a new one on e-bay.

Nana didn’t have much to say about the operation. She is probably processing the new reality of being part cyborg. She may even be worried about the knee gathering data, assembling a rudimentary intelligence, and coercing her to take up Nordic hiking.

Nana’s friend very sensibly urged her back into the arms of Morpheus, which meant I didn’t get the skinny on exactly what drugs are in her IV drip. I hope that they’re taking care of the pain and, of course, keeping her calm.

Feeling solidarity with Nana against the post-op pain blitz, I urged my parents to open a bottle of wine. The consultant at the liquor store had recommended a promising Chilean red: FALERNIA CARMENERE RESERVA (2007). But would it be as mind-altering as Nana’s post-op cocktail? I pushed the thought aside.

And what was my fourth grandparent Papa (he doesn’t know I call him that) doing, I wondered? Was he bedside at the hospital? Or had he invited dozens of friends over for a housewrecker of a party? Was our wine going to compete with the martinis I imagined him shaking? That thought, too, I pushed aside.

The FALERNIA winery in Elqui Valley, 300 miles north of Santiago, is Chile’s northernmost wine estate. Interestingly, FALERNIA partially vine-dries the carmenere grapes before harvesting to boost their intensity. Given the resulting 15% alcohol and mouth-filling concentration of the 2007 RESERVA, I have to evangelize this method. If you are a fan of big, juicy wines, this one will appeal to you. But let’s back up—the experience is worth detailing.

FALERNIA CARMENERE RESERVA is a dark, concentrated ruby hue with big legs and a heady aroma of cassis, ripe berries, and plum. The flavor is massive and enveloping—without erring on the side of fruity simplicity. On the contrary, it serves up an orchestra of nicely coordinated tastes. Oak aging rounds out the flavors, adding the suppleness and sophistication that is often lacking in so-called fruit bombs. This is not quite a fruit bomb, but it is a near-orgy. And the finish? Endless.

You might call FALERNIA CARMENERE RESERVA an oenophilic blitz. At $18 it’s rhapsody for the tastebuds, and a respectable 15% wallop for your brain cells. Just right for toasting my grandparents—whether they’re floating around incorporeally, floating in a morphine haze, or in Papa’s case, hosting a wild three-day party during Nana’s recovery.

It’s just as well Nana’s doctors probably wouldn’t allow me to enter the hospital with a paper bag containing this wine. It probably wouldn’t tango so well with Demerol. As for Papa, I’m sorry he can’t share it with me, but let’s face it, that means more for me. As for the ghosts—if they’re here—they’re welcome to it, as long as they keep calm.

ASTROLIQUOR for March 23-29—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Your chart is telling you to organize your home, Aries. You need to have your shit together for when the sun enters your sign. So get it done now, because when the sun gives you this powerful surge, you don’t want to be holding a feather duster; you want to be doing something big. This is not the week to go halves on anything—it is not a weak week. Your power drink: two parts Kahlua with one part white tequila. YEAH!

Taurus, you need to pull your own weight but still be a team player. As unreasonable as this sounds through a haze of Grand Marnier, it will help you accomplish extraordinary things. So cut that liquor with some coffee and observe your colleagues carefully. Pay heed to what they do, not what they say. If you like what you see, share your flask.

You have the energy of a crazy artist this week, Gemini, giving you a creative boost, along with some mild psychopathy. Yes, your life is out of balance, but the flow feels so good… Sometimes creativity, zaniness and poor judgment make a perfect mix. It all cries out for a strawberry-banana daiquiri (but keep your hand out of the blender).

You’re very susceptible to magic tricks right now, Cancer. This makes you a potential dupe for scientologists and vacuum-cleaner salespeople. The suspension of disbelief you’re experiencing has a deceptive charm—watch out! You could end up buying a whole case of Girl Guide cookies, and you know your money would be better spent on vodka.

Leo, you have a difficult choice ahead. What you decide depends on the quality of your information. So keep your senses tuned—what you learn could change your whole life (no pressure). Now is not the time to black out. Maintain partial consciousness by diluting vodka with less potent products:

  • 1 oz melon vodka
  • 1 oz peach schnapps
  • 4 oz apple cider

Shake with ice and strain into a collins glass.

Your chart is hot, hot, hot, Virgo. You’ve been working hard, and more importantly, you haven’t become complacent. The universe is rewarding you with opportunity, wealth, and status. You’ll be offered leadership—take it! No, I mean really take it, because later in the week the universe is going to crap out on you and serve up all kinds of insecurities. So get into that cushy job or make your move with that special someone right now before things go sideways. And when they do, console yourself with a big pitcher of Bailey’s, Kahlua, and banana liqueur.

Libra, everything is giving you GO signals, with a focus on personal relationships. The sun enters your House of Marriage (OMG!), which means you need to hide briefly—it’s not a good time for long-term commitment; there are some retrograde planets messing around in your constellation that could spell mating disaster. Stock up on rum and triple sec; combine them 4:1 with some lime juice. Drink inside your house, alone.

If karma exists in the universe, Scorpio, you’re having trouble perceiving it. Luckily your fortunes are shifting, flooding you with new information and understanding. You’ll be able to understand people’s past actions, their true motivations, and their sometimes nefarious goals. These are the sort of realizations that can knock a person out. Keep that third eye open with a little Jagermeister. If it grosses you out, drop it into a beer.

Sagittarius, be patient this week, no matter how difficult it seems. You’re a couple of steps ahead of the rest of the world, but if you don’t let it catch up, you’ll end up in trouble. Divert yourself with some empty sex; you need to vent some of your passion or it will spill over. And of course you could always stay home and get wrecked, especially if you’re worried about chlamydia. Cherry vodka and sprite for you.

An accidental meeting may lead to a serious relationship, Capricorn. You’re surprised by your hunger for human connection—as though you’d forgotten that dimension of yourself. But you know how it is when you look too desperate…you attract predatory types. Ease off, be cool. Differentiate between love and sex; you can have one without the other (which one is up to you). If you’re worried about looking worried, load up on Cosmopolitans before pursuing the relationship in question.

Aquarius, this week brings you good cheer. The universe has a rosy glow and you are in the mood for frivolity. In fact, serious people can kiss your ass this week. You’re looking for animalistic types that you can have an orgy with. Find some and invite them over. Serve up a big punchbowl of rum with elaborate ingredients floating in it.

Pisces, your head and your heart are in one of their famous conflicts. You know what you should do, but you don’t wanna. Whether this is due to immaturity or a headful of Jagermeister and Blue Curacao, it poses danger in situations involving finance. This is not a week to experiment with investing! Use your money to stock up a kick-ass bar.

Hay Fever…a gender problem?

My Fellow Inebriates,

When new booze fails to enter the house for an unreasonable length of time, I start looking up at the medicine cabinet and wondering if there’s anything interesting there. Of course it’s just full of the usual crap—kids’ cold/cough medicine, vitamins, whimsically purchased supplements. You can’t even see the back of the cupboard for all the mess in there. And what’s with my parents? No goodies in there…no Ambien or Atavan—nothing to make my day more bright.

Stupid Nasonex bee

The newest arrival is Nasonex, prescribed for the hay fever that has attacked every year since we moved to Langley, an outlying suburb of Vancouver that used to be mostly farmland and acreages but has in the last decade gone nuts with development. Land has been razed for townhouse complexes and surrounding infrastructure (typically lagging—for instance, there are no sidewalks in places, and we could use a school or two to teach the little ones growing up in this Bible Belt that the universe is more than 6,000 years old).

You’d think putting urban-style housing where plants used to be would decrease allergens, but the exact opposite is true. Compared to traditional forests and fields, developers’ tidily planted rows of trees assail people with pollen, producing violent allergies and even inducing asthma.

What the hell? I thought nature, with its forests and valleys, was the biggest pollen-producing culprit. But wouldn’t you know it—our insane pollen count is a product of urban development.

And it all comes down to economics—the economics of tree planting and maintenance. If you’re the sort of building developer who has no qualms about shorting your townhouse complexes on insulation while fitting them with toilets too finicky to digest the family’s solid offerings, then obviously you’ll plant the gardens and surrounding green space with the cheapest greenery possible. And that’s where dioecious trees come in.

Unlike the animal kingdom, which is mostly divided into male and female genders, the plant kingdom is by majority monoecious (bearing male and female flowers on the same plant). However, some plants (including trees such as ash, cedar, cottonwood, and juniper) are dioecious, which means there are separate male and female trees. So you have one population that produces pollen (male) and another that produces fruit and seeds (female). The upshot is that female dioecious plants produce no pollen and are benign to allergy sufferers. The male plants, on the other hand, are pollen machines, shooting their load continually March through June depending where you live.

So, in an allergy sufferer’s ideal world, the surrounding plants would be female dioecious ones. No pollen, no allergies. But in a developer’s ideal world, the best plants are the cheapest ones to maintain—the male plants, which don’t litter seeds and fruit.

This is the mentality of builders across North America. Allergies in cities are rampant as new-development dwellers cope with pollen counts surpassing anything they’d encounter on a nature hike. Essentially, if you live in a new city development with tidy rows of nice new trees, and you’re wondering why you’re being incapacitated by allergies, it’s because you’re being assaulted by an overabundance of male pollen. You’re being inundated by arboreal jizz.

So that’s why our bulging meds cupboard has Nasonex in it now. This alarms me, because it may be the reason my parents haven’t been buying alcohol lately. Could they be avoiding interactions? OMG!

I checked the Nasonex website and couldn’t find anything about alcohol. Perhaps the appropriate studies haven’t been done, as consumers are simply advised to discuss interactions with healthcare professionals. And since my parents wouldn’t bother doing that, alcohol’s go-for-takeoff.

So why isn’t there any in the house?