Chronic Negress

The Negress is huddled by her large window air conditioner as the East Coast boils in the sun. She has been attending to the needs of Dying Media here at home because she was waiting on a birthday miracle that has actually come to pass. Nine months after the ominous rumbling and crashing sounds that were the death knell for a 3 by 5-1/2 foot piece of my plaster ceiling, the ornamental plaster repairers are here. Doing work. They are not on the phone telling me there is another two weeks until they can come as they did every two weeks for the past three months. I have dropcloths over the couch and chair that couldn’t have their delivery delayed for another week. Work is going on. I would weep with joy but I don’t want them to stop to see what’s going on over here at the computer.

In the preceding days, we finished off the Cotes du Rhone and also quaffed a 2005 Vegas Sindoa Tempranillo/Merlot blend from Navarra. These are the kind of solid citizens of the wine world that keep your spirits up. They offer pleasure, some complexity and a few surprises.

Not like the Magnus 2005 Clare Valley Leasingham Riesling. I took this to a party and made sure it got opened so I could leave it with the hosts. This was one lemony pill to swallow. I expect maybe a hint of citrus in a Riesling, but this was more war club than jeweler’s hammer. A wine devoutly to be avoided.

We have this week off from my IWC studies, which is not a bad thing. I need to organize my notes and read up for the next couple of weeks. I might even able to do so in My New Living Room. Excitement abounds.

The Stanley Cup ended and decided to finish off the Bandit 1-liter box chardonnay by way of toasting the Penguins’ heroics. Unfortunately, the easily seen hand of the Negress (as opposed to the unseen hand of fate) knocked over the glass, splashed the walls of the bedroom and the floor. Clearly, I was channeling Marc-Andre Fleury, whose ample, padded butt provided an own-goal for his team. On to baseball season, where I haven’t quite let go of the Astros but am dating the Mets.

Also, slogged through the New York magazine issue on the area’s top physicians and was delighted not to see a single member of Team Perry listed there. The last thing any good chronic wants is to have mere wannabes with a few paltry symptoms delaying her access for serious matters. Much is right with the universe.