Some wines taste like crap in late Fall

[Ken Schramm]

originally posted by Eden Mylunsch:
I too have noticed a similar correlation between a "bad wine day" and a "bad music day" but I don't go so far as to think it's the Demeter calendar messing with the wine or the equipment, but possibly related to the overall mien of the people I'm drinking or listening with. And if you're drinking wine while listening to high-end audio, and you've decided that it's not a matter of using the wrong-shaped Riedel glass or that your Shun Mook Mpingo Discs were out of alignment, well then maybe the biodynamic calendar is out of alignment with you and/or your companion and you're just reflecting your environment.

Or maybe it's just YOU finding the wine and music a little "off," since your partner has likely abandoned you in a fit of pique, leaving you to your hi-fi whilst she curls up in another wing of the house with her iPhone to rewatch the first three seasons of "The White Lotus" so she can decide where to spend her alimony dough after she leaves your sorry ass because she got fed up with you not doing things around the house, like building her a better stable for her polo ponies and Three-Day Eventing horses, or not building a full-sized pool to connect with the Goop Sauna that Amazon delivered last week (or was it Neiman Marcus?) And oh yeah, she asked nicely (well, once) if I would replace the rich Corinthian leather interior of her Bentley GT with something classier (but not klassy with a 'K') that'll match the interior of the helicopter, stuff like Alcantara and snow leopard, with matching carpets so deep that if you drop your keys on the floor, you may never find them. And while I'm at it, I oughtta trim the claws of the cats (we have a pair of lions and our friends think we're trying to put on airs and be like the NY Public Library or Siegfriend & Roy) and maybe I could spay and neuter them too while I"m at it.

So what I'm trying to say is that maybe, what with all the nagging and kvetching and the "my mother told me you were a jerk" and the "I shoulda married a gynecologist and not an internet wine influence" nonsense, there isn't ANYTHING that's going to sound a taste right. You could be sipping 1989 Henri Freakin' Jayer Cros Parantoux out of the new Reidel "Nuits Ste George" Sommelier stem, hand blown by level-one sommelier students and listening to The Electric Recording Company's single-copy release of Wu Tang's "Once Upon A Time in Shaolin" on your Clearaudio Statement V2 turntable... and it all tastes and sounds _okay_ but it doesn't sound right. That sort of firepower deserves fireworks and seeing Jesus dancing above the speakers, but not to be judgmental or anything, even Monsieur Jayer's finest is not going to get you that far along. Being yelled at for not cleaning the cat box is not conducive to enjoying great wine and music, so it's helpful to be aware of one's mood, surroundings and well, the context of life.

-Eden (on any given day however, Lawrence Welk's "Tribute to Astor Piazzolla" double LP is going to sound great regardless of what you're listening to!)

On Substack, you're supposed to pay $80/yr for shit this good, and it's not this good.

And yes, we are in Lovecraft territory, seamlessly woven into a Salvador Dali painting.

 

[Oswaldo Costa]

Every morning I drink the same coffee, sourced and ground the same way, using the same machine, with the same (bottled water), and every day it tastes a little different, often more than a little. If it's not me, it's the barometric pressure.

 

[Rahsaan]

I don't drink coffee or tea these days, but these are agricultural products, so presumably there is some variation across the beans/leaves. No two beans or leaves are the same, even if sold under the same label.

But I agree, the temperature/humidity, our own oral ecosystem, plus everything else in our mind and body all play a role.

 

[Christian Miller (CMM)]

originally posted by Zachary Ross:

originally posted by Jeff Grossman:

originally posted by georg lauer:
How should I envision a root day person?

The Great Race's members were immense rugose cones ten feet high, and with head and other organs attached to foot-thick, distensible limbs spreading from the apexes. They spoke by the clicking or scraping of huge paws or claws attached to the end of two of their four limbs, and walked by the expansion and contraction of a viscous layer attached to their vast, ten-foot bases.

We are definitely in Lovecraft country these days.

There's certainly a blind gibbering idiot god at the center of the universe, although no one calls him Azathoth.