I went to a party at Morgan’s last night. A decade ago, that meant something a lot different, but these days, it means tremendous hors d’oeuvres from his amazing wife, free legal advice from a lot of lawyers, and Morgan mixing the (strong) drink of his choice, for all to consume. Last night it was Mai Tais. I always thought they’d taste of chewable aspirin, because of their colour, but it seems they mostly taste of alcohol.
Amidst the lawyers and Mai Tais was our old friend Lynsey. She was Morgan’s roommate a decade ago and has since become a highly succfessful wine rep. She rents a cheapish apartment on the East Side, and invests in wine. She is neither pretentious nor haughty. She simply loves wine. She drinks a lot of it, but since pretty much her entire lifestyle is a tax write-off, she has money to invest in wine.
Trouble is, she wants to educate my palate. This could become a problem, because I tasted some mighty fine wine last night. I want an educated palate, now. I want to be dedicated to wine. I want to say things like, “Of course, the Gewurstraminers from that region are red-clay wines,” and have people regard me with awe.
The problem is, I am not rich. And so I would need money to have this fine hobby, drinking good wine. So I will have to start:
a) selling E’s gear to make money and room for wine (“Honey, where’s my Martin?” “You never had a Martin. These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”),
or b) Become a wildly bestselling author. The latter appeals because then I could also swan about in marabou-trimmed mules, drinking fine wine and speaking at conferences about ‘my craft’.
Actually, that sounds all right, come to think of it. But for now, I think I’m going to have to stick with cheap wine, a second bedroom full of guitars and amplifiers, and writing for fun, not profit.