Wine and Dreams

Oldest winery ever

2011-01-12T12:34:00.003-05:00

Discovery of the world's oldest winery confirms speculation that wine production started in Armenia, then moved south to Egypt.

Never really thought much of rosé. Until now.

2010-07-12T18:15:00.004-05:00

I'm into the hard stuff: dark chocolate, red wine, espresso, and (until recently) rare meat.

But we had a heat wave last week. And I fell from grace. Well, we both did.

We started drinking rosé. Specifically, Ménage à Trois, from Folie à Deux Winery in St. Helena, California.

So tonight, we had to get through the evening somehow. We took the tots to a park where there are sprays of water. And we let them run naked in the jets while we sipped rosé in our stainless steel camping wineglasses (very classy).

And I started to feel... so happy. Light and silly. And we laughed at the funny people who passed through the park: that guy in his speedo on the bicycle, and those other two guys who had shoulders big enough to fit a whole Jason inside each one. And the tots jumped under the spraying water and I watched the trees waggle their tiny friendly branches.

Who knew rosé could be so much fun?

Playing tag with the tots

2010-07-05T08:15:00.003-05:00

We were in a sort of controlled figure-8 pathway with lots of hiding places and stuff. Mr. Nibs and Imogen were racing around. There were other people there, and cats. I was hiding by lying down on the grass. Neither tot could see me, but I was hardly hiding. Finally, I got up and went to find them. I slipped slowly into conciousness. It was 7:11am.

No more wine.

2010-07-02T17:58:00.000-05:00

No more wine.
No more wine.

Book as dream

2010-07-02T08:47:00.004-05:00

We watched the films, now I am reading the books.
Millennium. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
I read this 850 page book in under a week.
I would wake up in the middle of the night and burn through a hundred pages, lying on the couch.
You just fall through this thing, I tell you.
Not a deep book. Not a complex book, finally.
But a helluva ride. A dream of a book.
I wonder how autobiographical this book is?
I wonder if it will spur a new kind of journalism.

Mysterious house guest: Benjamin Brunet Rasteau

2010-06-06T11:08:00.006-05:00

Lately I've been getting off on wines that come in the door with a little dust on their lapels. I think the adjective would be musty... but in a good way.

And this round little darling (Benjamin Brunet Rasteau Côtes du Rhône Villages 2007) was just one of those mysterious house guests. It came in all discrete, the French wine sitting so quietly but so conspicuously at the table. And at the appointed time it beguiled us with tales about the meaning of time and experience. Much enjoyed.

Number 23 Wine

2010-01-05T14:27:00.002-05:00

Cracked a bottle of red wine last night, first in weeks.

Funny little wine, that one.

No comments, really. It was definitely red.

Shooting strangers in the Square Mile

2010-01-05T14:24:00.003-05:00

Hmm. Strange dream last night.

Must have been all that Grand Theft Auto over the holidays, coupled with the acupuncture I had yesterday.

Discovering a horrific plane crash

2009-11-14T15:36:00.004-05:00

I was with some people from work, going somewhere vaguely work-related when we saw smoke, emergency vehicles and lots of people up on an overpass. As we got closer, we saw that a massive passenger jet had crashed onto an elevated highway.

We walked up onto the overpass, among the police and ambulances, looking at what happened and vaguely wondering if we could help. There were bodies scattered on the rocks that surrounded the broken body of the plane.

Near the front of the plane many of the seats were intact. We walked up to the front row, where three well-dressed people in their 60s were still buckled into their seats. At first, I felt this horror feeling and thought they were dead. Then they started to move and fumble with their seat belts.

They were in shock, but could speak to us and move about. They were very gentle, with the nicest manners, thanking us for helping them, etc. At first, I attributed their gentleness to their state of shock. But as we led them away from the plane into some kind of room or building, it became clear that they were simply very genteel, refined people.

In the dream, I realized that I never wanted to fly again, after seeing first hand what a plane crash looks like.

I woke up still believing I was in the dream, thinking about how the passengers we helped were travelling first class, since they were sitting at the front of the plane.

Wine and the Concrete Banquet

2009-10-25T19:25:00.003-05:00

Lots of wine was drunk tonight at the Second Concrete Banquet, but I couldn't tell you what vintage.

5 groupuscules met at 5ish at a park on the Plateau, just before sunset, in high costume.

We dressed as if the Queen of England would join us.

Each groupuscule was to make a contribution to the dinner's entertainment: Bacchus and lanterns.

We brought hot buttered rum: there was an October chill in the air, and that helped. The sky was a brilliant blue and the leaves yellow, gold and red. Until the sun disappeared behind the mountain.

Our geodesic dome helped create an atmosphere of sorts, and the Wild Children played there safely. For a while.

It will be even better, next year.

Les Palombrieres -- Complicated. Surprising. Lovely.

2009-10-24T20:27:00.007-05:00

Okay, so first we bought a couple of acceptable bottles of wine at Costco. For the party tomorrow. And then we drank them. So today I went out and bought another bottle for the party tomorrow. An eleven-dollar bottle of French wine. The usual.

Golly. What a surprise. Admittedly we popped it, or rather, screw topped it, before the party tomorrow. But that's okay. Right? I mean, it was kind of a rough week...

At first sip, Les Palombieres (Tannat/Merlot, Cotes de Gascogne 2007) was... totally surprisingly absolutely delightful. It tasted like raspberries. So fresh. But not young. Kind of innocent... but not really. You know what I'm talking about.

It's like, they took a Merlot and then cuddled all the macho out of it. So that it's all sweet -- looking at you doe-eyed (blink, blink). And then you realize that it never was macho; it's something else altogether, completely original.

But after a couple glasses, it starts to get a little dull. You look for that spark, but now it just seems like all the others. What happened?

Matt Bisonnette head of business development at SSMU

2009-10-13T16:09:00.003-05:00

Yeah, so where did THIS dream come from?

My old friend from highschool, and Brian Mulroney's nephew, was head of business development at SSMU. I chanced to meet him, walking into the student union building at McGill. (A lot had happened before this part of the dream, but I will relate from here...) So he shows me how SSMU had decided (on his advice) to intensify the student union by building housing up on top of the 3-storey enclosed area, that they owned (nothing like what is there now, in the real world, by the by..., but hey, this is a dream! whaddya want?). I could see where the forms were. He explained that he wanted to go up 8 storeys, but only got permission for 6. I was impressed at the foresite, and his business acumen.

Three Dee Tank Dream...

2009-08-15T10:40:00.002-05:00

I dreamt last night that I was playing that 3-d first person shooter video game from 1980, Battlezone. But it was updated and full scale, so I was walking around inside a virtual reality of tanks and pyramids. Rocky was with me.

Domaine de la Janasse arrives fashionably late

2009-08-15T10:17:00.008-05:00

This is what happens sometimes in the summer. A bunch of red wine drinkers get together; but it's sweltering, inside and out, so everyone brings white or rosée. And they all confess... they'd rather be drinking red, but thought something lighter was more appropriate.

And everyone politely sips white wine. Or rosée. And it's lovely. But as the night gets darker and cooler we start to get more honest with ourselves. Now we earned the right to drink red. And red is poured and relished and things get considerably more interesting.

And that gets me to... ohhh... delicious. Domaine de la Janasse, vin du pays de la principauté d'Orange. On first sniff, first sip, it was like crackly caramel and blackberries and chocolate.

And the talk gets weirder and more intense. And we can once again claim our rightful place as dedicated red wine drinkers.

Hangover dream & the "POW" tattoo

2009-08-15T10:10:00.004-05:00

Golly, there was a lot going on in my brain in the early hours.

I dreamed that I was getting a tattoo.

I remember explaining pop art to the tattoo artist, talking about Lichtenstein and how wanted a cartoonish "POW" on my arm.

Funny that my pre-dawn hangover intruded... in my dream, I was taking Tylenol to try and feel better. Despite reminding myself that I had popped an Advil mere hours earlier.

Wine, wine, wine, what you mean, but never say...

2009-07-04T21:07:00.005-05:00

A tribute. A tribute. Tri-bute. Brandy: no, wine. Wine. Yes. Wine and Dreams.
I had a dream last night.
I was at City Hall.
We were invited.
Invited to present the housing plan to the committee.
City Council was meeting in the big room.
During the meeting, the committee broke out.
Four or five members of council met in a side room to discuss housing matters.
The GRTs were presenting: old familiar.
Three of us were to present: new, dynamic, focussed, different.
Our turn came.
Attention on our team of three.
Not sure who was going to present.
My colleague started: "I want to begin with a comment. Many people right now are looking for a place to rent. An affordable place....blah blah blah."
I thought: NOT the time for this speech. Not the time.
Suddenly, the committee was called back to Council.
I felt we had lost our opportunity to make the case.
I regretted not speaking out first, taking the lead.
I felt I knew better how to present our case:
Mega-hospital. Community. Bridge. Mutual benefit. Etc.
I woke up to Mr. Nibs hammering gently on his door.
It was 643.am.

Guest Blogger Dave: Bill The Red

2009-07-04T20:21:00.008-05:00

I tried a 2006 red wine from Vignoble Riviere du Chene St-Eustache, Quebec, Canada, called "William" (from now on called "Bill"). I'm horrible at describing the flavour of wine. I'm like the guy in the film Sideways who says, "It tastes pretty good to me". Anyway, "Bill" tasted like my memory of the first time I tried Valpolicella. It ("Bill") had a bit of an edge/tartness and "muskyness" to it - one that would compliment red meat (cooked, preferably). It seemed to cleanse the palette with a slight lingering aftertaste. I would have this one with food, but something different - richer and fuller for political philosophical after dinner discussions. It cost under $15 Canadian ($13,80 to be exact).

lots of wine

2009-07-01T15:48:00.003-05:00

Guests have been pouring in for days now and with them, loverly glass bottles green and labeled and corked. Too many to recall, really. A Kim Basinger (or was that a Kim Klein?...or a Cindy Crawford?) Anyway, a fine white wine, which improved remarkably with a little sejourn in the icebox. A hefty red fellow, for sure in a green bottle, that's all I remember. From Argentina, I think. I wish those recycling trucks didn't come so often. We drank Kim while watching Citizen Kane last night, oh that pasty faced genius. Our guests were also on Atavan, having been travelling, so the grey tones cast a strange light against our pale, numbed faces, gawking at the scenes before us.

Little Boy wine

2009-06-21T08:26:00.003-05:00

A fine little 10$ bottle, very very subtle, was Dao (with an pinyata on the "a")'s Meia Encosta. Rich red wine taste and a true red wine colour, especially in the wineglass, this little number was selected by Imogen at the SAQ at Papineau and Mount Royal. So I says to her: "which one should Daddy buy?" and without hesitating, Imogen walks straight up to a pile of Meia Encosta, grabs one, turns her heavy lidded eyes up to Daddy and says flatly: "this one". So I bought it. She also selected a white Saumur (which someone adult confirmed will be superb: will report soon!) and a third bottle which we have already drunk, but for the life of me, can't remember....OH! yes, a Beaujolais. Forgettable, for sure. Anyway, after my first sip of the 2007 Meia Encosta, I blurted out: "it's a Little Boy wine!" Try some, you'll see what I mean!

Meia Encosta: as in, don't cost much? Any helpers, here?

Weeds

2009-06-21T08:09:00.003-05:00

I had been helping Kirsten weed her community garden, a distasteful task for me. I think we should use some late 20th century herbicide free techniques to keep the weeds down: black plastic garbage bags, carefully layered over the soil, but with holes to let the good guys out, a technique taught to me by Chris Wrobel, my farmer friend. But K likes to weed.

And last night, I had a dream that this weed came back. A stinging weed that she thought was strawberries: it had grown ginormous and I was tasked to get it out, which is how I learned it was a stinging weed. So I used a pitchfork. So here is this weed in my dream, and I pinned it against a metal grate with my heel and cut the roots off it with a machete. Very satisfying.

Metal grate: could this have been a visual import from Terminator Two, that took us four days to watch this past week? Remember the liquid metal man who could squeeze through grates? Can't wait to see Terminator Four. But I digress.

It was a great dream. Not exciting, but very satisfying.

Visiting an English enclave in Amsterdam

2009-06-19T09:56:00.006-05:00

J and I were in Amsterdam. I was wandering the city, alone, at night and came upon a kind of village near the water. A bunch of smart and interesting artist/squatter types were living in some industrial buildings. When I arrived, they were having a neighbourhood party. A bonfire raged in the middle of the street. The overall feeling was of Christiania, circa 1996.

Oddly, the people in the village spoke English. They told me they were part of an English enclave in Amsterdam.

I went back to where we were staying. The next morning, I wanted to show J the village but got lost on my way to find it. We ended up at an elementary school. I thought I would take a shortcut by going through the school.

Inside, I watched a really cool teacher work with a group of kids. They were doing incredible things. A man saw us watching and invited us to have lunch with him. It turned out that he was the principal of the school. The teacher we were watching was his wife. We knew we wanted to send our kids to this school.

J and I had a wonderful lunch with him in his office next to the gym where the kids were playing. Then we went on our way. It was the school for the village I had visited the night before. J and I knew this was where we belonged.

Cocktails in the trees -- so lovely

2009-06-02T08:45:00.001-05:00

I'm not going to tell you anything about this magic treehouse... you'll just have to check it out for yourself.

Meeting with the Queen, my ex and an elephant

2009-05-08T07:05:00.004-05:00

One of my exes got a job at Canada Steamship Lines. I found out because I was walking past their offices (which are near where I work) and saw him and some other people looking out the window. Then, later, a friend confirmed that he was working there.

Then I was in a meeting room at Canada Steamship Lines. It was a kind of salon -- very Victorian, like a room at the British Museum where world explorers met.

I was... scantily dressed, lounging around in this room reading anthropology coffee table books. People began to gather in the room. The queen arrived. Not Queen Elizabeth, but maybe Queen Victoria. She was leading a geriatric pet elephant. Apparently, the elephant went everywhere with her. She was a little bit dotty, but was still an essential presence at the meetings.

Then my ex arrived in the meeting, along with some other people. I tried to blend in and not be noticed. But it was difficult.

Me and my platypus buddy

2009-03-30T11:27:00.002-05:00

I dreamed that I had a pet duck-billed platypus that I carried around in my arms.

Blind men

2009-03-25T06:23:00.004-05:00

A long and detailed dream last night.
It started with a visit to my friend's house in Geneva. He lived in a big rambling apartment. We talked. Somehow, we were on a worksite and there were some city workers taking measurements. But they seemed hesitant. We poked around at a doorway and found some very sophisticated wires. We figured they were looking for wiretaps. Alex realized he had information that could be useful. Suddenly we were in a spy movie. False information was transmitted by phone. The people who got the information died. Alex supplied the information to the right people. Suddenly we were all much older. I was an established photographer and, it seems, good with the ladies. Alex had been admitted into an old age home, but the nurses hated him so much they hid him in a back room and ignored him. Coming up to the front staircase of the old age home, the stairs were littered with women hoping to see some famous old man who was living out his last days there. I managed to get in by showing my camera. I learned that someone had given the old man a gift, but he was blind and wouldn't be able to see it. Everyone was sad about this. I remembered that Alex had the gift of being able to see with his hands. Maybe he could help out....I went to look for him... and woke up.

Happy dream: My favourite imaginary band of all time

2009-02-12T21:43:00.004-05:00

I was in Calgary, and was scheduled to go back to Montreal. En route to somewhere... I stumble on this band playing an impromptu show in one of those characterless corporate alcoves next to an office tower.

I jump out of my bus, or taxi or whatever and join the small audience. The band is amazing -- these carnivaesque rock and roll people, playing music I can't remember clearly. They were a lot like one of my absolute favourite bands: Friendly Rich and the Lollipop People

Two lead singers stood on soapboxes, with their faces painted in grey and white, with scary, accentuated old man wrinkles. Behind them stood horn and accordian and guitair players, dressed in pinnochio marching band kitch.

When the song was over, a greyhound bus pulled up and the whole audience got onto it. They were taking us somewhere.... no one knew, no one cared. We were all having such a damn good time.

I remember thinking that I was supposed to be going somewhere. But I was too intrigued not to lose this trajectory.

The bus headed to the suburbs and ejected us all on a big green open space. The band danced and ahead of us, playing something spontaneous and ridiculous... from the circus. We all ran after them, waving our arms and encouraging them to keep playing. It was awesome...

When I mentioned my dream to J, he said it sounded a lot like the magical mystery tour. Perhaps.... but I was also watching Burning Man videos yesterday....

No more wine...

2009-02-07T14:16:00.004-05:00

Kirsten announced at our annual post New Year's spa day, where we soak for a few hours with friends and then congregate around a few plates of hot and spicy food, while reviewing our new years resolutions from years past and making new ones for 2009, Kirsten announced grandly, and without prior consultation with her soul mate, the man with whom she shares a blog called wine and dreams, indeed this blog, this blog...Kirsten rolled up her tongue and said: I will stop drinking wine in 2009. I choked on a piece of spicy meat. What? So, of course, in solidarity, I have quit also. So we won't have many postings on the wine side of wine and dreams, this year, unless we break under the pressure. So far, so good. That was January 24th or so. No bottles have been cracked since. But we will certainly be breaking our vow in June, when we plan to get married again. That's right, we are going to tie the knot again on June 21st. Why not? is there anything in the rulebook that says you can't? It's kind of like getting a second mortgage with the same lender.

So many dreams, where to start?

2009-01-16T14:05:00.005-05:00

Rather than tell you my dreams, and I have had many of them in the last little while, I will tell you Imogen's dream. A few days before, she had an accident with some (not very hot) macaroni and cheese. So this scenario played out in her dream. She woke up very agitated and said: "I had a dream. GHL-dlkaold macanoni elaosl face, my shirt aodldlldle hair...dhlslsod mummy ...in the shower dohhdood cold. Very cold."

Doing stunts in my very own fast car

2009-01-08T21:59:00.003-05:00

My parents had bought me a new car to commemorate some kind of acheivement. Now you have to realize that a) I've never owned a car, b) my parents, simply, don't buy me thinks like that, and c) I don't drive.

So: I had this shiny, black Porsche convertible of my very own. While J and some of our friends enjoyed brunch in this European-type terrace space, I burned around alone in my new car. I got air on stairs. I drove really fast. I had a really super crazy good time.

Then I parked the car and joined everyone at the table. I was looking at photographs of myself driving the fast, black car. Imogen was in the passenger seat. We were flying through the air, our blonde hair waving in the wind.

Suddenly, J said: "I just heard someone drive away in your car. I think your car was stolen."

I used a cell phone to call the (get this) in-car phone. This car thief picked up. He thought I was someone else and explained how he had just stolen this amazing Porsche.

I said: "that's my Porsche and I'm going to call the police. No. I'm going to call my friends who are in a motorcycle gang and they'll do horrible things to you and get my car back."

Getting to know the freaky metro busking girls

2008-11-14T11:25:00.007-05:00

A few nights ago I worked late, so was not exposed to my usual repertoire of Metro buskers on the way home.

Instead of my usual favourites (heroin addict pan flautist, lesbian pop duo or quebecios jacques brel, to name a few...) there were these two girls doing a bizarre, art-folk-fiddle-singing-step-dance thing.

I honestly couldn't tell if they were crazy art groundbreakers or just really, really bad.

I was confounded enough that they made their way into my dream:

J and I were hosting a party and this troupe of famous Slovakian folk artists showed up. Naturally, two of the eight or so musicians were these two girls. We were making idle conversation about where they were from, etc...

Then I noticed a newspaper article posted on the wall. It said that these very musicians had come to Canada on tour, and had suddenly gone missing. They had gone underground. Yet here they were standing in my living room.

They explained that it would be easier to live in Canada if they were anonymous.

I then took the two art-folk-fiddle-singing-step-dance girls aside and explained that they would be better off not busking in the metro if they wanted to stay anonymous. Now that they had been mentioned in the paper, someone was bound to recognize them.

Our friendly, neighbourhood Quebec celebrity

2008-11-04T09:23:00.002-05:00

I dreamed that this down-and-out guy who I see around the neighbourhood was actually a famous Quebec movie star. I saw him in a movie, and he looked exactly the same as he does when I see him in the street... bloated and spaced out.

Doing time for short skirts and hijinks on the bus

2008-10-31T13:49:00.004-05:00

My old friend Popi and I were on the bus, wearing short skirts and being really obnoxious. There were some old ladies nearby who were getting particularly crabby.

Later, it was clear that we had been very naughty on the bus and were going to get into trouble. I ended up at a trial where the old ladies described our transgressions.

I knew that what we did was not a big deal, and was hoping for a chance to defend myself. But when I started to speak, the judge said that we both had to go to jail.

I was astounded that girlish misbehaviour could have such a harsh punishment. I began to wonder just what it was like to be in jail and how I would handle it. In the next scene, I was in a jail cell, bored and confounded that my life had come to this...

Does more sleep = more dreams and a higher I.Q.?

2008-10-30T09:54:00.004-05:00

After something like three years of less-than-perfect sleep, last week everyone in our house -- age one to 43 -- began to sleep all night.

It's beautiful... to wake up at 6 a.m., think it's the middle of the night and then realize: "OMG... I actually slept all night."

I'm waiting for the corresponding leap in my I.Q.... and the realization that maybe we've all been mentally retarded for the past three years.

Or... does lost sleep damage you forever? If that's the case, then add it to the list of irrevocable damages I've inflicted on myself. What's done is done.

Oh yeah, and all this to say, get ready for a fresh crop of dreams...

Visiting the heart of the festival

2008-10-14T18:28:00.004-05:00

I was at some kind of giant festival, with lots of crazy things going on, when I got a glimpse into the inner circle. I climbed a fence and looked down on a vast, grassy farm.

High above the grass, young people in twos and threes were swinging on giant, wooden swings. There were little gardens, high in the trees. Each garden was rough hewn, but lovingly cultivated on little tree balconies.

I knew that I was witnessing something very special and I wanted to be a part of it. I also understood that these people earned all these pleasures: the garden, the swings... They worked hard.

I so badly wanted to know more that I scaled the fence and jumped down into the grass on the other side. The festival behind me seemed empty compared to what I was about to experience.

I followed a path to the farmhouse and went inside. There were animals and gardens inside the house. It was a kind of commune, with nice, wholesome kids tending animals and preparing vegetables.

An old woman greeted me, and I understood that this was the true heart of whatever good things the festival had to offer. And I knew that these kids worked hard, year round, to build their paradise.

And I knew that I didn't belong, but was welcome to earn my place there if I worked hard, not to be part of the festival but because I was part of something bigger.

The G spot: Giacondi Nero d'Avola 2007

2008-09-09T18:03:00.008-05:00

Every time I try to post about this wine, this little guy dressed in green comes into the room and tries to climb on my lap. Really. I think he's trying to tell us something. Something about temperance, maybe.

Since J is on antibiotics, all responsibility for finishing this bottle of Giacondi Nero d'Avola 2007 has fallen on my shoulders. And naturally I'm taking this responsibilty pretty seriously.

Made from what they call "the black grape of Avola", Giacondi starts out with a blast of almost agressive goodness, then drifts away, like a wallflower at a party. But this little fade tempers the first bite with class... like it knows what it's doing.

Breaking cats legs...?

2008-09-01T16:28:00.004-05:00

A couple of nights ago, I dreamed a strange dream. Swirling chaos dream. Nancy Neamtam was in it. I was involved in some kind of competition. I had to cross rivers and fight wild animals that wanted to kill me. I found myself fighting very savage very large house cats, that wouldn't stop trying to scratch me savagely and I had to break their legs and paws to keep them from ripping into my flesh. Walking in water. Struggling. Was this the Amazon, or Northern Quebec?

Grenache at 8$, woah, yeah, I like that.

2008-09-01T16:17:00.004-05:00

Despite my being under the weather for the last two weeks, we managed to drink a little wine in the between spaces. I have resolved only to buy bottles of wine that are under 10$. The cheaper the better. This ToCADo was about 8$. Mr. Finn likes it too. I guess you could call it: bargain hunting. But since we know nothing about wine, here at wineanddreams, we wouldn't know a bargain if it banged us up the side of the head. Bargains? We get those at garage sales. Oh, that reminds me, we bought a fine Elektra expresso machine, an industrial motherofamachine, for 400$ yesterday. The man at the store sells reconditioned ones for 4000$. But for details on that, you should read our other blog, coffeeandnightmares...

"Hell if I know what they're singing about"

2008-08-29T09:36:00.004-05:00

I was hosting a dinner party, with some old friends and some new friends. The new friends were mostly new to Canada -- from China, India...

In the background, a Tragically Hip record was playing. I started to take the piss out of the music. My friends asked what the song meant.

I remember the lyrics went: "tonight we take the bridge..." I sang along, and then laughed, adding: "this is a famous Canadian band and I don't know what the hell they're singing about."

It's different... Stone Cellers Zinfandel

2008-07-29T17:13:00.002-05:00

Remember kids... enjoy responsibly! Hahahahahaha...

Since we never review California wines, I'd never seen that little box before that makes me verify that I'm over 21. So flattering! That they'd think I was so young. Here in Quebec we start drinking when we're 8.

Back to the wine. J decided it was time we had some Zinfandel. So we headed for the Stone Cellars by Beringer. It's so smooth, it almost isn't there. And that's a compliment. It tastes kind of white, without the tang.

I just... well... It's not that I don't like it. I DO. But there isn't much to go on. It's really nice. It always says "yes" and never crosses over into contentious topics. Never disagreeable.

Grenache: 100 year old vines

2008-07-15T17:54:00.003-05:00

A-iiiite. We are (finally) watching all those Wire episodes that all the cool kids watched back in 2006. So famously included in What White People Like, but hey. We like it anyway. So we are onto the last season, 6th episode. Dude just jumped out of the window in a hail of bullets. I figure either Marloe dies or Omar dies: one of them has to die. And Marloe can't die, because then justice isn't done. But maybe Barksdale springs from prison to kill Marloe and then Barksdale gets nailed.

Anyway, to help smooth us in these difficult days of not-knowing, pre-season finale jitters, we are swilling some FINE wine from Spain. Krstn will take a photo and post a picture of the label. All's I know is it's 100% pure grenache vines, and only cost 15$. I think it was a 2006. Nice colour. Instant joy as it goes in the gullet.

Bubbles: Krstn thinks he will make it. Me too.

Cozy like a little tongue blanket: Langlois-Chateau Cabernet Franc 2006

2008-07-11T21:40:00.005-05:00

We're newly resolved to be... organized about the wines we're trying. So, introducing St Florent Domaine Langlois-Chateau, Saumur Rouge, Cabernet Franc 2006.

It stretched over my tongue like a little blanket, tickling new places way down the sides of my tongue. But it needs to breathe first... and warm up a little... I drank it in the bath.

Jeanne, O Jeanne

2008-06-30T19:12:00.003-05:00

Krstn had a sexy-time dream last night, but I doubt she will blog it. That's private. Anyway, we both attribute our weird dreams to the massive quantities of potatoes-and-cheese that we ate last night. I had a whole series of weird ones, but I will only mention one, that features Jeanne, a professor emeritus that I will not name fully here, to protect the innocent. Well, not that there is anything scandalous about what happened with Jeanne, in my dream. Just that we were going to co-write a book about owning your first dog. 'Nuff said.

Anakena, anaconda, akela

2008-06-25T22:19:00.004-05:00

This Chilean snake is a leader among boys. Just 11$ a bottle, the label states "carefully handpicked", and indeed, Krstn did handpick it off the shelves. This wine is made from a variety of grape called the Carménère, evidently not much cultivated anymore in France, but increasingly so in Chile. A deelite-full wine. Bubbles just like the band: ooooo lala la la laaaaa.

Cabernet Sauvignon 33% more

2008-06-13T11:15:00.004-05:00

My first effort at posting this failed.

It will try again in a few moments, but if the First Evar Video Commentary on this outstanding Cabernet Sauvignon fails, then it must be so.

The most important thing about this wine is the 33% more aspect of it.

Cabernet Sauvignon 33 % More

2008-06-11T21:29:00.004-05:00

What a hell of a deal. Got me some good drink on with THIS baby. For the first and only time, here is my video review of this extraordinary wine. This exclusive footage was filmed on Salt Spring Island, at the outstanding bed and breakfast Talasan that I hope you will find time to unwind at, like we did. Talasan: like Talahasi, only different. While the video uploads, which can take a while, I will babble on about the raspberry overtones of this outstanding value wine. Let me just say now for the record, what drew me to this wine was not the extra 33% but the clear demonstration of ecological awareness of this small Australian winery. The label lists the various ways in which they support the environment. It brought Breugles to me eyes. Just the thought of it makes me want to have another glass. Jesssus, only 7M of 80M uploaded. I am gonna be here all night.

Meat fest at my old friend's house

2008-06-06T19:03:00.002-05:00

I was visiting a friend at her apartment. I was really happy to see her again, but had stayed a long time, perhaps even days, and was hoping to leave soon. I felt uncomfortable about leaving, but felt some urgency to move on (where to, I'm not sure).

At the same time as I was going to say my goodbyes, she started getting her place ready for a big party. She had these huge pieces of meat, sides of beef and other, more fancy things that she was going to cook for the party.

I had to leave but realized that she needed help with cooking what looked like very complicated meat dishes. The apartment was chaotic. I remember feeling overwhelmed and guilty. Then friends started showing up at her place; the atmosphere was warm and friendly despite the disorganization all around us.

Apartment noise makes bombs

2008-06-06T18:57:00.004-05:00

Now that J and I are on vacation, we're going to try, sweet mother of god, to revive this blog. So I'm going to get back on the horse with a dream that J had last night...

Over after-work snacks, he told me and his sister that he had a dream about walking around with bombs strapped to his chest. To which she replied, "oh yeah, that's because you slept at mom's house last night and it's really noisy outside her apartment."

Imogen drives a motorcycle

2008-04-29T13:15:00.002-05:00

In this dream, Imogen is still a baby but is driving a motorcycle and I am sitting directly behind her. Turning right on Parc Avenue, by Fletcher's Field, she drives up over the rise past the tam-tams site, in full traffic. Krstn is coming along behind us on her own motorcycle. Imogen has trouble braking and I am nervous as the bars are a bit high for her. The traffic is slowing down and as we cruise through the traffic, the middle lane opens up and we take that route, curving under the Park-Pine Interchange which has been rebuilt (again). We follow the road under to a worksite, filling with water. The city has built an incredible water-park underground, under the Park-Pine Interchange, and it is almost completed. All tiled with fake islands and stuff. A few homeless people are standing around in water about a foot deep. We slow to a stop and take in the scene.

The Gruesomes seek funds from the CDEC

2008-04-15T07:55:00.002-05:00

With an earnest face, Little John is explaining how their event went over budget and they were going to apply to the CDEC for funds to help with the deficit. The thing had taken place in a church basement or something, and the main expense was a fruit salad, a massive fruit salad. In my dream, my old boss Claude had forwarded my own notes to me, with his scrawled comments and questions and I was going through them, while John and Bobby explained in way too much detail what had happened, why it had gone into deficit, and why they needed the money so bad. I immediately spotted the reason for the deficit: they hadn't budgeted to pay the musicians, and the hip-hop band were insisting on getting 1500$. They were nervous. I woke up.

Hot competition at j-school... for a house

2008-04-14T15:19:00.004-05:00

I was back at school... journalism school... For some reason, our teacher was telling us about this house that was for sale. It was part of our schoolwork, kind of. After the class, everyone wanted to buy it. They were lined up at the phone, trying to call the seller/agent.

One student in particular was being very annoying, wheeling and dealing in order to get an edge on the other students. This whole scene is pretty reflective of my time at j school... classmates competing for leads and jobs.

I also, desperately, wanted to buy this house. Something about a barn and 1950s decor... I went out of our department and down the escalator, to use a different phone. Someone was using a really loud machine next to the phone, so I went down another level and called about the house.

Then I went to go see it. It was a small, kind of ugly bungalow. Nothing special... Still, I wanted it.

Less wine, more dreams

2008-04-07T11:31:00.003-05:00

It's confession time.

J and I drank a lot of wine this winter. And we forgot to post.

Well... we talked about posting, but every morning we couldn't remember the wines well enough to write anything. And there were too many wines, after a while we couldn't distinguish one from the other.

So a little over a week ago we decided: No more gratuitous wine drinking. The party's over. This doesn't mean the end of wine postings, but it does mean that the wine postings will be fewer and farther between for a while.

We will however post reviews from everyone and anyone who wants to pipe in and tell us about a bottle. Now how's that for democracy?

Unpacking and packing and rushing for the train

2008-04-07T11:22:00.003-05:00

Weeks have gone by and I haven't been able to remember one dream... well, except for a couple creepy ones, which I'd rather keep to myself...

Then last night we moved the baby out of the bedroom and *pow* the dreams came hard and fast. Which probably means I had a good night's sleep.

This is actually a variation on a recurring dream... I landed in Amsterdam with a bunch of friends, en route to taking the train to Brussels. We got off the plane and made our way to some kind of intermediate spot where we were going to rest. It was a kind of indoor/outdoor picnic area...

And then everyone started to unpack their stuff. Lots of stuff: toys, clothes, lots of useless things... we spread our stuff out over this kind of hillside and then relaxed.

Suddenly I realized it was time to pack up and get to the train station or we would miss the last train to Brussels (in real life I missed last the train from Amsterdam to Brussels and had to spend the night in Antwerp).

We were in a big hurry and had to pack up all our stuff. This was a tricky project... very chaotic. I realized that we probably weren't going to make it and started to think about low budget places to stay near the Amsterdam train station.

Frontera: tonight I'm being a bad girl

2008-03-13T21:03:00.006-05:00

It's like this: if J brings home a bottle, I always wait until I can share it with him. Out of, you know, politesse. But tonight he came home, left the wine behind, and then went out again.

So what's a girl to do? In particular, what's a girl to do who has steak to eat? She drinks the wine, bien sur. Not all of it, but some. And then a little more.

Tonight's web surfing companion is called Frontera Cabernet Sauvignon Merlot, by our old Chilean friends Concha y Toro.

The verdict: creamy delicious, when combined with a piece of rare flesh; but a little strange when paired with Cherry Nibs. Live and learn.

Oh so Montreal... the sublime loft space

2008-03-13T20:53:00.005-05:00

After many weeks of sleep so deep or broken that I can't for the life of me remember a dream... just the flavour of a dream here and there... This morning I actually slept late enough to get a really long, deep dream on.

I was trying to rent this amazing loft space from a friend's sister. She was currently living there, but told us she was leaving. It was on the ground floor of this huge warehouse. Rather than distinct apartments, each space was delineated by an alley or maybe curtains. One wall was all windows -- old, giant, freaky factory windows. There was a bohemian feeling to the space... it was really wild and crazy and I couldn't resist its appeal.

Espousing Buddhist biker wisdom

2008-02-20T10:17:00.003-05:00

The dream is fading already so I need to get down what's left of it. It was inspired partially by a man I saw on the bus. He was 60-ish, rumpled and had the friendliest face. Everyone on the bus was grumpy except for him. He had this calm, nonchalant way of chatting with the other passengers that genuinely engaged them and wasn't at all creepy or insincere.

The dream was also inspired by a radio program I heard last week about various kinds of evangelist bikers, who used to be criminals but then turned to religion or other ways of supposedly clean living.

In my dream, I was at some kind of biker seminar or conference. People were sitting in rows, in chairs. It was either a classroom, or a bus or both. He was one of the attendees. At one point he stood up and started to espouse Buddhist philosophy as it related to the nomadic lifestyle of a biker. I realized that he was a kind of prophet, explaining how you could give yourself up to the road without losing yourself.

A visit to my old apartment

2008-01-30T20:15:00.000-05:00

J and I were visiting my old apartment, except that this apartment was completely different. We were just stopping by, en route to spending some time with a friend. She was with us, and came into the apartment to wait for us.

Once in, we found a lot of stuff that belonged to me and realized that we had to recoup anything we wanted before another tenant came along. Weirdly, I had been away from that apartment for a few years, so didn't know why there was so much of my stuff still there: clothes, food, weird knickknacks, etc...

I felt guilty because J and I were taking a while to put everything in plastic bags. Our friend waited patiently but I was acutely aware that we were being selfish and probably wasting her time.

Suddenly J ran over to me, very agitated and said, "Call an ambulance... X is sick." She was in the bathroom, vomiting blood. There was no phone in the apartment, so I ran outside and rang the neighbour's bell.

The neighbour lived in a huge apartment up a steep flight of stairs. There were many children and other people in the apartment's many rooms. I called an ambulance and went back downstairs.

While we waited, J and I continued to pile clothes into old plastic bags. I kept looking for the ambulance, and wondered why it was taking so long.

Viejos Robles, te amo

2008-01-29T19:11:00.000-05:00

Last week we took home another bottle of Viejos Robles. It was there, it was fast and we had some foggy memory of liking it sometime in the past.

So we took home two more bottles tonight -- a menage a trois with last week's bottle and the fourth bottle from a few weeks ago looking on, voyeuristic and just a little bit jealous.

Now it's love. Los Robles, I love you, and I'm not afraid to say it, my Argentine beauty.

Let me count the ways... Los Robles, you are:

Dark, deep and rich
Full bodied (if you know what I mean...)
Smooth... a completely well rounded experience, from nose, to wet lip to back of the tongue
Full of little nuances: espresso, black cherry
Cheap! Only $8.50 CDN

La Pigole: Never again too good for dep wine...

2008-01-29T18:28:00.000-05:00

Here in Montreal you can go to the corner store and buy wine.

If you're in the US, you might think this isn't such a big whoop....

But you can't buy wine outside a government-sanctioned store anywhere else in Canada. It's all part of Quebec's loose moral character: our booze is cheap and readily available... and we like sex.

And when people describe the good things about this city, inevitably one of them is "you can buy your wine at the corner store."

But then, something happens. You decide that you're too good for what we call "dep wine" (depanneur = corner store in Quebec, handyman elsewhere in the French-speaking world).

Too good for readily available, cheap, fairly decent wine? WTF?

With this now empty bottle of La Pigole from Cotes-du-Rhone (un "grand vin de France") I declare myself officially never too good for dep wine.

Tractors in the sky and bones on the ground

2008-01-04T09:06:00.000-05:00

Part of a larger dream, I was sitting at an outdoor cafe when I noticed a tractor flying at airplane height above us. To my horror, the tractor was coming closer... it was falling, straight toward us. It smashed down at a neighbouring table. Tractor pieces and body parts flew everywhere.

Apparently, a woman had been driving the tractor. Someone explained that she was a kind of courier making a delivery. Bones and body parts were scattered all over the cafe tables. I was horrified, and left. Then I noticed that people were attentively, even reverentially, cleaning up the body parts. I had a lot of respect for these people, that they could be so kind to the dead woman. So I went back to my table and attempted to do the same.

I dream of bears (the animal)

2007-12-25T21:23:00.000-05:00

We were on a road. The flat part, a road that climbed a long mountain. Maybe 5 or 10 people behind us, another 20 or so ahead of us, up the road. Some family, strangers, on this road. Suddenly, a bear wanders across the road. My brother doesn't react, behind us. Krstn and I start to run up the hill. It is heavy running. Hard to run, uphill. We gain some high road. I look back down, to see the people, ants, and the bear. Something is happening, but we can't make out what.

Moving the spider to a better place

2007-12-24T19:17:00.001-05:00

J and I have both had spider dreams in the past month. My last one featured large, scary spiders. In this one, though, the spider was cute like a plush toy.

Some of the details have faded, but I came upon a huge, very elaborate spider web. I remember marveling at the repetition of precise patterns, the intelligence behind the web. But... the web was in an inconvenient place... on a building or a doorway?

Then I saw the spider responsible. It was as large as a tarantula, and had black and white shaggy fur, like a stuffed animal. The spider was equal parts horrifying and cute.

I decided that this was no place for a spider... and decided to move it somewhere less public. First I destroyed the web, then I scooped up the spider and carried it down a country road. Then the dream gets kind of fuzzy... there were more webs... and I remember growing kind of fond of the spider...

Black Goat + bagels + lox = Magical Third Flavour

2007-12-22T18:59:00.001-05:00

Just to get things straight: I really don't know what I'm doing. You know that, right?

This morning at the SAQ, I was looking at the 2006 Beaujolais and nothing really excited me. So I went a little downstream and found this saucy little bottle called Reserve de la Chevre Noire, Pinot Noir from Maison Boisseaux-Estivant. What the hell...

J and I opened it an hour ago and weren't all that impressed. It just... seemed one dimensional; a red wine for people who prefer white whine.

But here's the kicker: We toasted up a few Fairmount Bagels and topped them with cream cheese, lox, onions and capers and then tried the wine again. OMG... it was perfect.

We were experiencing, right there and then, The Magical Third Flavour. You know, when you put two things together and they make something else delightful [that could be a metaphor for life, or at least coupling... if only I could come up with something more profound to write here].

While it's all very well to fool around here, we realized, there and then that 2008 was the year that we should actually, truly learn about wine, pairings and all that.

lazee koala

2007-12-16T14:25:00.001-05:00

Well, this is a little red wine.

We dined on spaghetti with meat sauce.

This one blasts through all the nonsense and delivers a packed, 5 sense assault on the body.

If this wine could talk, it would talk: Aramaic.

black underwear

2007-12-16T14:22:00.000-05:00

In this dream, I am wearing one-piece black longjohns.
Some things happen that I can't tell you about.

I wake up.

Viejos Robles: easy like Sunday morning

2007-12-16T13:59:00.000-05:00

We worked on this bottle over the past couple nights. Glasses just appeared here and there, like casual conversation. We like Viejos Robles just fine, like we'd like anything, anything at all that came all the way from Argentina.

What... you want more information?

Viejos Robles was like a tidy little chocolate truffle. One that doesn't leave any cocoa on your fingers.

Borsao takes the East Plateau by storm

2007-12-16T13:51:00.000-05:00

I'm nosy. The kind of nosy that peeks into people's recycling boxes to see what they're drinking. And It's that orange label... I see it everywhere. People are drinking Borsao like it's goin' out of style...

Fine dining, a dental hygienist and a dirty toilet

2007-12-16T13:41:00.000-05:00

I was at the dentist's (incidentally, the same dentist's office that J dreamed about recently) , on my way into his office when I need to use the toilet. I tell the dental hygienist and she takes me down a side set of stairs to a small bathroom next to a restaurant. It is the filthiest bathroom I have ever seen. Horrifying...

When I'm done, I tell the hygienist and she says that it belongs to the restaurant, not the dentist and there's nothing she can do. Instead of returning to the dentist's, I sit down in the restaurant, which is kitschy in a 1970s fine dining kind of way.

I order a meal and wait a long, long time. At the tables next to me, there are four men, clearly all friends but sitting at two separate tables. I realize they're on a double date. I sit quietly listening to their conversation.

I wait a long time for my meal. While I wait, I become less discrete in my observation of the four men. A couple of them are aware that I'm watching them; they think I'm flirting, and maybe I am. But I know they're gay. This becomes embarrassing for me. I decide to tell the waiter that my meal is taking too long and I prepare to leave.

Gretta Chambers?

2007-11-30T07:39:00.000-05:00

I guess it must have been the English contributions to the debate on Reasonable Accomodation, live on CBC Radio.

Gretta Chambers is responsible for driving a large truck, in this totally pointless dream. I can't remember any details or context. But the truck kept changing. Sometimes a garbage truck. Sometimes a moving van.

Jean Coutu, the torturing dentist

2007-11-27T17:21:00.000-05:00

So William Hurt is playing the role of a friendly pharmacist, in the daytime. Walking around in his white coat, all friendly, beaming. But I see him, in my camera-eye dream, going upstairs, in his white coat, into a room. There, three men in dentist chairs, in a variety of states. An assistant is cleaning the torture instruments. A dead body in the corner. I wake. Immy is screaming in the next room.

David Byrne impressionist

2007-11-22T10:08:00.000-05:00

A friend of ours was doing a David Byrne impression in a small nightclub. We were watching him perform a song from "Stop Making Sense", in which he uses his hands as talking puppets.

Farm houses, cats and kittens

2007-11-22T09:58:00.000-05:00

I was driving through a country village with large houses. Although I was alone, I was with someone else... we were talking about the farm houses. My companion pointed out a farm, and explained that there they performed medical tests on kittens.

A short while later, my companion pointed out another farm house where they bred cats and raised kittens for testing. I pulled over and sneaked into the house. It was messy and comfortable, full of heirlooms. I went upstairs to a room containing cages; each cage contained a cat and most cats had kittens.

One cage contained a small, blackish cat. My companion explained that this was the male cat. I opened the cage and let him out into the room. Then I decided to leave the house via the window so no one would see me. But the window was too high, so I went back down the stairs.

Halfway down the stairs, I met up with a woman who asked me what I was doing in there. I told her I was there to visit someone, but realized that I was in the wrong house, that I was very embarrassed and was now leaving. I left the house, got into the car and drove away.

Bring on the dancing uncles

2007-11-08T16:11:00.000-05:00

I dreamed that my uncle was the lead singer of Echo and the Bunnymen.

Borsao 2006

2007-11-03T19:10:00.000-05:00

Nothing much to say on this one, that we haven't said before. Delightful.

Damn, that girl is fast. She already blog on dis.

Drinky spice: Borsao Campo de Borja

2007-11-02T18:10:00.001-05:00

I don't usually trust what they put on sale at the SAQ. But today the stroller was wide and the babies were restless, so I just grabbed the first shiny bottle that stacked near the door [ a couple weeks ago I backed the monster stroller into a stack of bottles at the SAQ... heh heh heh...].

Well, damn, I came up with Borsao, Campo de Borja, 2006, a fresh 'n' tasty little bottle. It comes on all shy, and then, just when you think it's, oh, all right, she hits you with a little tickle of spice.

Burning down the house

2007-10-31T13:54:00.000-05:00

So now that Krstn has mentioned it, I must respond.

All I remember is that my brother and I were going to try to burn down a house but try to hide the fact.

So he had put some firestarter in some...food? I can't remember. And as we were leaving the house, in the foyer, he put the bowl down and it was burning with a small blue flame.

And I took the bowl and turned it over on some catfood, so the two were burning. I lifted up the first bowl to make sure it was still burning. And it was. And we left. And I remember thinking that any good fireman would know that this was arson, because of the firestarter and the strange way the two bowls were lying together. Firemen have their special ways of knowing.

It is harder to keep track of dreams when you have to jump up and get a bobby for a crying baby, isn't it?

Speaking in tongues

2007-10-31T10:03:00.000-05:00

Somewhere over the course of the last few nights, I dreamed that Imogen took out her tongue. She reached into her mouth and her tongue just came out in her hand. She wasn't alarmed... since there was another, perfectly fine tongue underneath. This kid talks a blue streak, which makes my dream a whole lot less surprising.

And while I'm at it, Jason finally stopped dreaming about work last night. When he woke up, he told me he dreamed that he and his brother burned down a house. I'll let him elaborate...

A white wine from Rioja

2007-10-27T17:50:00.000-05:00

But how can that be, you think. Well, here is the photographic proof. You can see that we have not yet finished it, and krstn is having a glass right this instant in the bath, quiet time. This is how to drink this refreshing simple, but not simple minded, white wine: in the bath. With a dash of eucalyptus oil dribbled in, to clear your nostrils.

Enjoy!

Muga!

Domo arigato, mr. de Ibor

2007-10-26T18:46:00.000-05:00

It's Friday night. Which means that mommy and daddy get their drink on. All I have to say is... thank you... Palacio de Ibor. You came on a little strong, but now we're getting to know your subtler charms.

Hello ooooo?

2007-10-26T18:32:00.000-05:00

Wow. I lost my password and contact with this blog for several months, but 'MAN have I been having DREAMS. Every night, I wake up in a fog of unreal real woah what's happening man, dream world blending in with reality. And then I have to go give the baby a bottle--NO, not a wine bottle, silly. And the dream disappears into a cloud of sputtering neurons. But I digress. Wine: Palacio de Ibor, 2000. This one hits you across the head. At first, I am thinking: hey, this smells like my vermi-composter. Then, earth-filled nostrils, I fill the mouth, and hmm. This tastes like my composter. So we let it breath a bit and after a half hour...it is really quite drinkable. So our advice is: start your vermi-composter today!

My bad. Me forget wine.

2007-10-25T09:44:00.000-05:00

Umm.... I can't remember the wine because I was preoccupied with the company.

I'm going to blame my two-months postpartum brain, because it gets the blame for everything else these days.

But, Jason remembered the Roches Neuves, and he said that it "tasted like home made wine." Which is generally not a good thing...

Hello, pink and delicious: Roches Neuves

2007-10-24T14:33:00.000-05:00

The truth is, I have been drinking quite a lot of wine lately. But I forget how they tasted. Each one has come, been enjoyed, and then gone on its merry way.

This time, though, I got smart. I thought I'd blog a wine before drinking it. And then I'd be committed to remembering, and blogging it the next day. Let's see if it works.

Tonight: I'm going to say bon soiree to Thierry Germain's 2005 Domaine des Roches Neuves, a sexy little Samur Champigny. It's dressed up so smartly in a little pink tunic, ready to be undone. Stay tuned...

Following a pony up Groll Street

2007-10-15T13:00:00.000-05:00

In real life, I read a blurb about Groll street, a kind of magical, cobblestoned alley in Mile End. This fed into a dream where I read that Groll St. was much longer.

I walked up Groll street and it turned into one of those hydro tower clearings, running through a forest. Ahead of me, an old man was leading a cart and pony up the clearing. I was curious about what a pony was doing in Montreal, so followed the old man towards a farm. When I got to the farm, the pony disappeared into or behind a barn. It was a kind of old fashioned farm, with children and chickens and other little creatures running around.

Then the dream morphed into some kind of shopping expedition with my mother. One-year-old Imogen was with us. We were in a kitschy Italian resto/shop, waiting for my mom to buy something. The store was cavernous and there were lots of stairs to navigate. I was cranky.

Organizing a giant garage sale

2007-10-05T09:08:00.000-05:00

I was one of many people organizing a huge garage sale in a big old, wooden country house. My self-assigned task was to gather up all the plants and put them on a table outside. I went from room to room, gathering up plants and setting aside the ones I wanted for myself.

Eventually I took my plants downstairs to a room where Immy was playing. Then I went back upstairs and explored the rooms, which were full of old furniture and endless knickknacks. The house had an old-fashioned wraparound veranda, much like a famous, old house in Montreal that we visit once in a while.

Babies in mason jars -- pret a manger

2007-10-05T09:02:00.000-05:00

A dream fragment: A chef had a bunch of small, newborn babies in mason jars. They were alive, but sleeping like fetuses. He was going to cook with them.

Later in the dream, he gave me a steak with sauce and I knew it was made with one of the babies. I took a bite and it tasted awful. When I told the chef, he said that he knew, that based on the steaks he just made the babies were no longer good for cooking with.

Smoke my Loon: Smoking Loon California Syrah

2007-08-19T17:55:00.000-05:00

I'm originally from Vancouver Island. And it seems that every time I go back there, West Coast wines get richer. Like it isn't enough to have coffee that puts hair on your chest. And salsa that makes you burn in that special way. Now they have to kick you in the teeth with wine that tastes like chocolate and blackberries.

Not that I mind. Though last time I went west, I began thinking that rich wine was just another new angle on unoriginality. So you can make it richer.... whooowheee... What else can you do?

Okay -- I take it all back. Friday, I was airlifted to Montreal's Robin des Bois, a wicked little restaurant run largely by volunteers. Get this: not only does Robin have the culinary credentials, he also has a good heart [how often do you find that?]. Part of each bill and tip is donated to local community organizations.

Back on topic. The folks at Robin des Bois served me some kind of magic potion, a West Coast blast of fruity delish: Smoking Loon California Syrah. So rich, it was naughty. And perfect with my nearly raw venison. Say no more...

Don't give up on us!

2007-08-09T09:55:00.001-05:00

Truth is, while we've swilled a few bottles and dreamed a few dreams lately... J and I are in heavy production mode, awaiting baby number two in just over a week. And while it makes sense that I would be tired, J seems to have caught sympathetic fatigue. We're just too damn tired to post.

I'm hoping... that this confession will put us back on track: blogging, dreaming and drinking. If the arrival of baby number one was any indication, the wine and dreams went into overdrive not long after. So... We'll be back...

Rescue mission gone waaay off track

2007-06-17T11:37:00.000-05:00

We were with a bunch of friends at "the land", where Jason's family has a cabin. Everyone was spread out in different places, doing things. I was on the edge of a field, having some kind of picnic while getting ready to plant a garden.

Suddenly someone came running out of the woods carrying a child in her arms. She said that the little boy had been attacked by an animal in the cabin and was hurt. I ran for help, across the field to where I could see some buildings. The buildings were institutional -- small town schools and town hall-ish structures.

I finally found a woman who would help. She was middle-aged, with shoulder-length blonde hair. When I turned around to find the land, which was not far away, it had vanished. There was a strip mall in its place.

I was disoriented, and told her that we had to get back. We ended up traversing the edge of a swamp, along this man-made wooden ramp/fence thing. Then we got into a monorail-like train that went through the woods. She said she knew where to go, but it wasn't clear, since we were travelling awfully far. The train went faster and faster, over huge bridges high above the forest. It was exciting.

I remember thinking that someone had probably helped the little boy by then, but still felt some urgency to get back and make sure everything was okay.

Casillero del Diablo - fit for the devil

2007-06-11T20:47:00.000-05:00

This one threw me for a loop. I dug in expecting the usual punchy Spanish wine, punchy even for a Cabernet Sauvignon. And then I realized it was from Chile... But still... Casillero del Diablo ended up tickling me in a kind of French way. I felt like I should be drinking it at L'Express, over delicious meaty, saucy things.
Castillo del Diablo Cabernet Sauvignon 2005, Concha y Toro, Chile

Royal pomp and an ancient stadium

2007-05-15T08:25:00.000-05:00

This dream was so insistent, it would resume after each wake-up... taking on a new plot trajectory or new components.

I, Jason and other random people were getting ready to attend a royal ceremony. We lived somewhere else, where there was an old fashioned king and queen. The dream centered around preparing for and arriving at the ceremony; we never actually got to see the event.

The ceremony was happening in a huge stone amphitheater. It was a combination of the stone arena where they do the military tattoo in Edinburgh, and Montreal's Bell Centre (where, freakily, I recently went to a Christina Aguilera concert... long story...). In each version of the dream, we arrived from underneath the bleachers as if entering a soccer stadium. But everything was very old. Like hundreds of years old.

In one version, there was an attractive young prince and all the women were preening to catch his attention. He had greasy, brown and blonde spiked hair. Very tacky. But even I was caught up on the preening.

In another, we were lifted in moving bleachers nearly a mile high above the arena to watch the event from an ancient stone perch.

Early morning double header

2007-05-09T14:59:00.000-05:00

This morning brought me a double feature of quickie dreams.

In dream number one, Jason & I were on vacation in some west coast city... probably Vancouver. I was taking him to all my favourite stores. Stores that don't actually exist (but could). We were in a kind of Pike Place Market neighbourhood, where we went to a chocolate shop and were then on our way to the "best place ever to buy coffee." The stores were an amalgam of places I've frequented in various cities. In my world, visiting chocolate and coffee shops with my man = happy dream, just one small notch below sex dream.

Dream number two found me at my first day of work at Jason's office. It seemed that I didn't really have any work to do, nor any specific role there. But Jason's boss constructed a very fancy modular desk for me. Various female colleagues would come over and chit chat with me. They had a lot of expensive art coffee table books that were there for the employees' enjoyment. His boss climbed a ladder and began to meticulously arrange a display of the art books, up high where visitors could see but no one could reach.

Separating the Lego from the chaff

2007-05-07T13:03:00.000-05:00

I was at some kind of family gathering. We were all staying in a small house. Not my grandparents' house, but very similar. I had some boxes of miscellaneous junk that I was sorting, taking out Lego pieces before discarding the rest of the stuff in the boxes. I also had some freelance work to do, but couldn't go into my room to do it. Everyone in the house was on their worst behaviour. I tried to explain why I wanted the Lego and why I wasn't wasting my time sorting through the boxes, but no one understood.

the other Three...

2007-04-29T12:24:00.000-05:00

We also enjoyed a 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon 2003 (R.H. Phillips) and two other bottles, but I can't find them in all the mess. But I should also mention the DEEElicious Jumilla (Panarroz 2005) that we had last Wednesday, courtesy of Zack Taylor. His website is down, so I have to substitute this character for the real McKoy. Also this week was a Shiraz-Malbec 2006, fuZion, a very nice wine at 8,20$, definitely one to buy again.

the Four Tops

2007-04-29T12:08:00.000-05:00

I think we all liked the Pinot Noir best of all, perhaps because that was the first one we opened, so I will start with that one. Clear, delicate, highly drinkable, this 2006 Argentine beauty came in a sparkling clean bottle with a real cork. Our wine book says that the 2006 Argentine vintage (as of early 2007) was looking to be one of the best of the last 100 years, so we were expecting a lot from it, perhaps, especially at 14,90$ a bottle for this Trapiche from Mendoza. Who the hell writes the copy for their label, though? "La majesteuse silhouette du condor planant au dessus des hauts sommets des Andes represente l'oiseau symbolique qui protege notre vaste vignoble" (sans accents). I dunno. Just bring me another bottle.

David Bowie singing Video Killed the Radio Star

2007-04-29T11:59:00.000-05:00

Man, what stuff the Imagination comes up with! Last night around 4am, after lots of rich Italian food and wine and thick (i.e. complex and layered) conversation with delightful dinner guests, I wake up to a dream of men in penguin suits (formal black and white attire) singing in lounge style, Video Killed the Radio Star. The dream appeared like a rock video. David Bowie was the lead, and had with him a dozen men arranged in a triangle composition, each playing his instrument. Each player had whiteface makeup on and bright red lipstick, Cabaret style. You may remember the tune includes some robot voices doing back up, and so when one of these parts comes up, the piano player turns to the camera (my inner camera) and sings that bit, close up, with his weird face and lips. And then he turns back to his piano. All the faces were very strange looking: high high foreheads, eyes with heavy lines under them or crinkled foreheads, huge ears, etc. Not all that interesting as a dream, really. Maybe that's what you get for mixing vodka and red wine (see other entry for details).

Bad behaviour and subsequent guilt

2007-04-27T18:38:00.000-05:00

Some friends came over to invite me to a party. Jason wasn't home yet and the baby was asleep, but I really wanted to go. So I just left, and left the baby sleeping at home.

We drove through a suburban area to a hotel/apartment building and went through an unmarked door on the ground floor. Inside was a clandestine gay bar, with a lot of cool people drinking and having fun.

I hung out there for a few hours, and then started to worry about whether Jason came home and was taking care of the baby. I called home and nobody answered. Suddenly I felt very guilty, irresponsible and concerned about Imogen.

I left the party and wandered down the road, an almost rural highway. Occasionally I had to go through a building in order to continue along the side of the road. I'd walk through a diner or supermarket and then continue along the road.

It became apparent that I had a long way to go to get home. I began to look for taxis and finally flagged one. It took me home. Jason was there and everything was okay after all.

big storm coming

2007-04-25T07:24:00.000-05:00

we were at the Land: krstn, johnny, my mum others. There was a horse tied up outside the house, which was bigger in my dream than the real one. There was snow on the ground, but it was warm and the lake wasn't frozen anymore. Two women came to tell us that a huge storm was blowing in from Montreal and they were evacuating everyone. We had just arrived and mum had no intention of going back. So we decided to weather the storm, which was to be the worst in history. We had to bring the horse indoors, and lots of wood and water.

harvesting earth honey

2007-04-22T09:14:00.000-05:00

I was leading in the hunt for earth honey, which is formed by intense heat caused by lightening strikes, volcanoes or meteor impacts. In such circumstances, a natural sweetness sometimes found in the earth, in underground streams or in little pockets, is concentrated, away from the blast, and reaches a boiling point, causing little tiny "lava bombs" of honey that boil up out of the hot earth, and then drop, just a few feet away, to form special little lumps. I was able to identify this rare phenomenon, and in my dream, we found some. You could see where the earth had swirled in the heat, and the little pock marks where the honey had popped out, and then, a few feet away, these little mounds. We picked them and ate the sweet earth honey.

Summer camp gone very weird

2007-04-22T09:04:00.000-05:00

I was back at this summer camp that I went to when I was a pre-teen. In this case, it was more chaotic, and there were girls and boys sleeping in lofts or dorms. Also, we were older. Camp was winding up, or maybe I was just visiting.

There was a room with a cooler of food -- meat pies and pork. I felt guilt around the pork... I think that we had killed it ourselves. There was kind of a feeling of cannibalism around it. Also weird was that several of us had multiple syringes in our pockets that we were using occasionally to surreptitiously inject drugs.

Weirdly, the camp was religious. And the drugs were very contraband but readily available.

At one point, we went outside to ride horses. They gave me a horse that wasn't trained. It bucked every time I tried to get on it. They said I had that horse because it needed an experienced rider. I liked the horse and wanted to ride it but was a little bit afraid of it.

A tidy little French wine, made from the mystery grape

2007-04-16T03:43:00.000-05:00

Mmmm... now it's my turn to talk about the wine with the chickens on the label... La Vieille Ferme, no date and made from the grape which has no name. The verdict: a tidy, sweet little French wine. One that keeps quiet, tidies up after itself and always has something pleasant to say.

Escaping the underground city

2007-04-16T03:36:00.000-05:00

I was in the underground city, in downtown Montreal and it became apparent that at least one of the office towers connected to the underground was on fire. The fire spread quickly and, one by one, the exits (many of which go through the ground floor of the towers) were being closed. I and a handful of people were heading west, building by building, trying to get out.

We finally ended up in a weird, open-concept 1980's building where we could go above ground and even onto the roof. There were authorities in the building who were trying to contain and control us, telling us we should stay put and everything would be all right. By this point many buildings were on fire, September 11 style, billowing smoke up into the sky.

I joined a group of younger people and went up on the roof. From the roof we took a staircase to the sidewalk and then each of us started to run in a different direction.