shiraz

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.”

MORSE CODE PADTHAWAY SHIRAZ (2009)

My Fellow Inebriates,

If only I could catch up on reviewing the wines we tasted over the holidays without becoming morose about the lack of wine in the house now. It’s tragic not to have any wine in the house—unreasonable really and a general travesty.

I can’t dwell on the superlative festive wines we drank last month or I’ll end up in tears. Instead let’s talk about MORSE CODE PADTHAWAY SHIRAZ (2009), a reasonably decent Australian offering ($13.99) with a healthy alcohol content (14.7%), a nice-looking label and a catchy name. Reviewing MORSE CODE won’t plunge me into desperation, simply because it wasn’t extraordinary. It was pretty good and certainly inoffensive, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to have it again, unless you were sitting beside me bogarting it or perhaps playing keepaway with it to hurt my feelings and impress on me how short I am and how much of a loser.

To wit: MORSE CODE is pretty good. I want to tell you that it’s fruit-driven but just saying that reminds me of this recipe for Chemical Apple Pie, described by its originator as “an old chemistry lab experiment to teach the limits of human senses.” The pie has no apples, if you follow me—but it apparently tastes like it’s made with ‘em.

So if I tell you a wine is fruit-driven or fruit-forward or fruity, well, I’m not trying to differentiate the wine from a UVIN chemical experiment in which fruit was not used. I’m just saying it’s a fruity-tasting Shiraz, meaning you can pick up on various berry and currant notes, plus the grapes that reviewers usually don’t think to mention.

MORSE CODE isn’t even the most fruity Shiraz—not by miles. But its product literature emphasizes that aspect of it, perhaps because the all the other flavors in MORSE CODE comprise an imperfect orchestra.

There’s a bunch of them: berries, currants, licorice, tannins, eucalyptus and—almost intrusively—tobacco. The whole thing is sort of tight, as though some of these flavors would like to knock the tobacco out but they’re too nervous to get a posse together.

We probably should have decanted this wine, and more importantly we probably shouldn’t have drunk it second to a better merlot that spoiled our palates. So I would give MORSE CODE another chance if somebody (the vintner maybe) sent me another bottle. I would decant it and let it open up for a good 45 minutes. I wouldn’t have any other wine before it; I would simply wait, twitching with DTs. Then I would knock it all back and dance on the table, wiggling my bum.

The resulting review would probably be more positive than this one, but unfortunately the experience I did have with MORSE CODE (sedate family dinner, better vino first) is all I’ve got. It tastes pretty good, and it would really appeal to fans of mouth-drying tannic and tobacco notes. The good news is it’s definitely made from grapes.

So would my mum ever make a Chemical Apple Pie? Holy crap, I hope not. Although if she did it would probably indicate a lowering of standards that might allow her to get out the debit card at the local UVIN and cook up 200 bottles of abysmal plonk for the dark days when I just need to pollute myself.

LINDEMAN’S PREMIER SELECTION SHIRAZ CABERNET (2010)

My Fellow Inebriates,

Everybody around me is depressed. It’s January, they’re recovering from festive spending, work is slow, tax season is looming, and they never did make it back to the gym after New Year.

Not to mention it’s freaking dark outside all the time. Axial tilt is a bitch this time of year for the Northern Hemisphere and, even though my parents say there are six or seven hours of daylight I could enjoy if I got up, it’s just not enough light to preserve sanity.

Psychologists agree. One in eight of us suffers from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). Most sensible animals hibernate, slowing down their heart rates and sleeping most of the winter. But if I did that I wouldn’t ever catch up on Breaking Bad on Netflix.

So how do doctors recommend we cheer ourselves up?

Truck nuts outside Walmart

A handful of nuts. Nutritionists say omega-3s and selenium boost your serotonin. Sounds like a job for Frangelico hazelnut liqueur.

Exercise. Physical activity releases happy hormones called endorphins. Why drive to the liquor store when you can jog? And you don’t have to sober up.

Talking. Find a drinking buddy and have a chat.

Light therapy. Screeching hangover and a bright light—sounds like the seventh layer of hell.

Relax. Ahhhh! Decant a nice wine. Not a crappy vino, mind you! When you feel depressed it’s especially important to hit the price/quality sweet spot. If your credit card is still searing hot, try LINDEMAN’S PREMIER SELECTION SHIRAZ CABERNET (2010). I kid you not, this wine is under $10 and beats the hell out of most price competitors. This ruby-red 60/40 blend is rich and aromatic, wafting ripe blackberry. In the mouth it’s full, jammy and big with background pepper and licorice notes plus soft tannins.

The LINDEMAN’S PREMIER wines are marketed toward the hospitality industry as suitable companions to restaurant meals. Makes sense—they’re reasonably priced and uncomplicated enough to be enjoyed in distracting environments. I hate to think what a glass would cost at the local burger joint, though—at 300% mark-up the joy of finding a good cheap wine would be somewhat dampened.

Too structured to qualify as a simple fruitbomb, LINDEMAN’S PREMIER SELECTION SHIRAZ CABERNET is friendly and long-finishing—a good accompaniment to that chat with a friend, and perfectly good for solitary sorrow-drowning.