Archive for August, 2008

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Nine Inch Nails at the Meadowlands

August 30, 2008

I cannot keep track of each corporate sponsor that has hung a name on the Meadowlands Arena, so the Negress will just go with a location. The advanced test had come and gone, and Dying Media was still awash in neurosis with various people feeling compelled to share various bits of dubious bits of information with the Negress. The Negress is trying to look forward to the next thing and focus on lifelong learning and getting away from every sad little moment that’s being thrust in her direction. The Negress is often praised for joy in the face of the unfathomable. Many people around her are stomping all over that joy. Bring out the Zinfandel and the mask of indifference. Also, bring back Nine Inch Nails. We fell hard for the Zabaco Ranch Dry Creek Valley 2004 reserve Zinfandel because it was big without being oafish. Zinfandel is more slubbed silk than, say, a satiny, sassy fat Cabernet. It’s that untamed quality that slays the Negress just about every time.

Our latest encounter with Nine Inch Nails found us meandering around orange cones and being thankful for the handicap hang-tag the Negress has for the next three years. After a series of missed connections with a co-worker whose name rhymes with “crazy,” we sold our extra ticket at a loss. Where was our Hockey Domestic Partner?  Well, a multitude of expenses related to his crippled Mazda kept in safely in Vermont. I was slightly heartbroken. MY HDP is one of my favorite friends and I feel blessed to have found someone I like quite a bit in the turbid waters of middle age. I also know he would have loved the show as much as I did.

The run-up was bit annoying. I ended up selling the face value $75 ticket for $30 and missed the opening act. I heard the last notes as I was getting seated. Based on those notes, they were more engaging than Deerhunter.  However, once the show started, a pair of millenials, feeling cocksure and whatnot, stood up and stayed up, blocking my view of the stage. The Negress has a pair of titanium knees. After bopping, writhing and being delighted to dance through two songs, I had to sit down.  The sound was much better here than at the Indian casino in CT, and Trent had regained most of his vocal powers. “Hurt” was a singalong here, which was moving and annoying simultaneously.  The songs from “The Slip” were fierce and felt more like old friends than before (I’ve been refreshing while I write this). I moved to the front row of the seats above the floor and enjoyed my unimpeded view, a little more dancing and a few slimy high fives from a drunken enthusiast. I did no beer this time (day before payday and the Negress is trying to retire some debts before fleeing Dying Media), but was thoroughly intoxicated by the show. Barack’s  historic speech the next night paled (get it?) by comparison. Also, the Negress’ mom is in the gloaming of Alzheimer’s, and the event seemed robbed of meaning knowing she wasn’t connected to it.

Oh yeah. Once home from the Meadowlands with ringing ears and a T-shirt, I drank the last of the Zabaco Zinfandel. Ain’t that America little pink houses and all.

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Nine Inch Nails North Fork Merlot and indifferent rose

August 30, 2008

Mainly because of the day to day at Dying Media, the Negress has been ensorcelled by Nine Inch Nails of late. Lyrics such as “I’d rather die than give you control” just seem to fit the current mood. The publication is finding its way to readers on a  regular basis, but the atmosphere is godawful. People are clustered in whispered conversations, speculating about how many have accepted the buyout package, how many have decided to hang in and who’s being told they need to go. Stories abound of people being called into the editor in chief’s office and being told their future, like he’s some kind of wicked gypsy with a gleaming set of balls. The publisher and his toupee, as weird as one of those little teacup dogs, has yelled at people in meetings and lawyered up when asked how many have decided to flee the premises. No good can come of this.

In short, a road trip was in order.  So the Negress went up to Connecticut to reconnect with one of her newest friends, her Hockey Domestic Partner, who now lives in Vermont with something of a domestic partner of his own. He joined the Negress and one of the Negress’ best friends from college so we could all head over to one of the Indian casinos in CT to see NIN. After dinner at Michael Jordan’s Steakhouse where we brought a Cline Syrah instead of a Zinfandel (how unAmerican), we ambled over to the arena. The opening act, Deerhunter, was even more forgettable than the eponymous film. My HDP plied me with beers so I was feeling full and happy when Trent Reznor and his band of sorcerers took the stage. Reznor had been having voice problems bad enough that show less than a week before this one was postponed, but he was dead game to make the experience memorable. Songs from the newest album, The Slip, sounded fierce and pointed. It’s been pointed out that Reznor, now sober sporting serious guns from gym work, has moved from being a peeved youngster to a 43 year old who’s  rage is now turned outward to a world that’s a mess. The Negress’ world is kind of mess right now so she could seriously relate. Reznor’s song, “Hurt,” was cool, quiet and sad in direct contrast to “Letting You” and other tunes from “The Slip.” He rasped out a greeting to the audience while dazzling video shrouded the band. Unlike the artists who use video to enlarge their stage presence, Reznor is more about using the video to enhance a song’s mood and structure.  It was quite a show, and even the Negress’ college friend, whose musical world stopped somewhere near her 19th birthday, agreed it was good. My HDP left for Vermont that morning after a breakfast of surprising tasty multigrain waffles with Vermont maple syrup. I napped while my pal got some work done. We stopped for lunch on the way to visit my pal’s horse so I finished my falafel salad and napped. I also spent a little bit of time deleting the voluminous Tweets from my Twitter “Friends.” Napping was more productive.

We were off dinner at a local spa with a decent wine list. My pal is red-wine averse so I recall a pleasant Viognier but forgot to write it down. More better wine comes later. We spent the next day buying fresh spices and yarn.

I came back to the somewhat terrifying prospect of studying for the WSET Advanced Certificated final exam. I did go over all of the material they suggested we revisit, but for reasons that hardly bear explaining, skipped much of the section on Madeira. One of our short answer questions was centered on Madeira. Ouch. I felt pretty good about the rest of the test but I will not know the results for eight weeks.

To ease some of that stress, not to mention the unabating madness at Dying Media, It was back to happier times on the North Fork. I realize that I had revisited the Merlots of Bedell for WBW # 48. I first understood the idea of terroir after having one. After glass upon glass of fuzzy, immature California Merlot, I had my Helen Keller moment. Since I needed clarity and vision, I popped bottles of the 2005 and 2006 and one of the 2005 reserve. What fruity beauty. I think I could not have drunk them at a more perfect time in their development. Lush, silken and complicated finishes that lingered like a kiss from a lover, not the stopwatch holding length that pops up in poorly written tasting notes. My oh my. Back to the real world, where there ain’t no going back.

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Wine Blogging Wednesday #48 The Madeleine of wines

August 13, 2008

The is the fourth anniversary of the this webwide virtual tasting, and its founder, Lenndevours, suggested we find a wine that is something of a lynchpin in our love and understanding of the stuff. I grew up in a Mateus/Blue Nun household. I think I now know why that nun was so down. Occasionally my uncle the shrink would drop off a bottle of Sauternes, which appealed to my childish sweet tooth. I knew somehow it was better than Mateus, but the same instinctive critical hierarchy that drew me to be a music critic hadn’t developed for wine just yet.

In college, I once drank a lot of Riunite Lambrusco and ended up seeing everything I had eaten that day. I drank beer with the women’s rugby team, Guinness with anyone who offered and Jack Daniels so often it was my trademark beverage. I drank some wine with a former professor who became my lover, but the wine seemed as much as prop for my nascent bad girl status as something to be savored. I did savor the man, who taught me well about many things. Somewhere out there is a nude picture of me when more was intact and svelte.

But this is about wine memories, so back to it. Since arriving in the best annex of New York, my wine savvy has increased exponentially. When living in Texas and California, I had acquired an interest in Merlot. That doesn’t mean that I actually loved Merlot. But the Cabernets were sort of brutal and overbearing, and I liked the soft tannins of Merlot. But at some point, those tannins got less soft and more linty and I lost interest. This was well before “Sideways,” so I am not an anti-Merlot snob come lately. But the North Fork of Long Island turned my head. my nose and my palate.

Face it, who thinks of terroir in New York? Ice wine and Riesling from the Finger Lakes. Cabernet Franc from the Fork had gained a reputation. But where my heart fell hard was the Merlot from Bedell. Tonight I am drinking the 2005 Reserve. The bottle has been finished as a couple of days have passed. This is a delicious, seductive wine with rich fruit and structure, and notes of ripe red fruit and plummy flavor. This is the kind of wine you can serve to someone who doesn’t know anything about wine and they will have their Helen Keller moment. North Fork Merlot made me understand that there’s a lot more to this than getting it on the shelf and hoping someone will buy it. The earth gets it all started, but how it’s finished is why we all keep writing.

Happy Anniversary WBW. Here’s to to more years and more wines.

I left school, moved down South and drank anything that wasn’t nailed down I was so miserable. Even dropped shots of Galliano into Miller beer. Even kissed people I shouldn’t have after doing that.

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Life outruns blog

August 6, 2008

When you last left the Negress, she was seated on a road case batting out Jon Bovi updates from Central Park on her dying laptop for Dying Media. The Negress was extremely grateful to have hauled her sweaty, battered body onto said case. She would have liked to have been just about anywhere else. She thought about Dying Media and how abundantly clear it was that her race there was all but run. The wine studies were kinking her brain but they were challenging, terrifying and exciting. She could explore wine endlessly; flavors and stories unfolding with each sip. Something had to happen. It had to happen soon.

Soon she was jetting off to Unity, a quadrennial event where journalists of color gather under the delicious delusion that they can influence the election, among other things. It wasn’t always that way, but Bush and Kerry showed up at the last one, and visions of king making danced in the leadership’s heads. Obama dropped by when a lot of us were already home or trapped at O’Hare for hours (Hint: having Wolfgang Puck sandwiches and Starbucks close to the gate when they let you off  your delayed flight is a plus).

I spent much of my time at Unity going to multimedia presentations and getting skill assessments on the killing floor aka the job fair. I will omit lengthy descriptions of said assessments, but cannot avoid making fun of the enormous amount of fake hair in mysterious, ethnicity-defying shades of brindled red and blond. The hair, which was lifeless and helmet like, was mostly sported by on-air TV types. The exact shade and highlighting can best be described as a Palomino in a blender. The best one-owner hair could be spotted on some of the Native Americans in attendance. Clearly, if all of us were this hopelessly superficial, this event could collapse in a nasty set-to of tonsorial conflict. Isn’t it a basic truth that everyone wants some version of everyone else’s hair? Ponder that when you have nothing better to do.

I did manage to get off the killing floor to collect a small sapling’s worth of business cards and go out drinking with the gays and lesbians. The gay and lesbian journalists are not full partners in Unity, supposedly because the black journalists’ group has blocked their full inclusion. We will not discuss at length the phenomenon of folk being on the down low and how it may impact this decision, which makes no sense financially.  We will also not discuss how underrepresented communities could exclude another community that shares the same burdens and challenges. But we could go to the NLGJA party, drink vodka, extract promises and genuinely feel giddy about singing Calle 13 songs on the bus on the way from the event with a bunch of people who we suspect we will never see again.

While vodka and the killing floor were two of the recurring themes of the event, the E-ticket ride was all of the panels devoted to multimedia in various settings. You would have to be one of those sackcloth and ashes Luddite types not to see the type on the screen (writing on the wall is so 20th century). Some of what I figured  out has been posted here. I was energized when my feet weren’t hurting and I wasn’t wondering how the restaurant at my hotel could treat so many people with such indifference and incompetence.

However, I couldn’t keep my wine Jones under control for long. Went to see Tracy Letts’ lovely new play “Superior Donuts” at Steppenwolf. I loved “August: Osage County” and was fortunate to see it on Broadway with the Chicago cast mostly intact. Before the play, I had dinner at Boka, which is cheffed by a former Charlie Trotter hand Giuseppe Tentori. Fab food and great wine. Kicked off with a Gruet NV sparkling wine from New Mexico. This is the second time I’ve encountered this little charmer on a menu. Lovely, refreshing and a great way to start a meal. Paired the Gruet with corn soup with crayfish ravioli and paprika leeks. Then onto Angus strip loin with braised short ribs and 2006 Bethel Heights Pinot Noir. Since Boka knows how to treat a lone diner, they sent me a chef comp of their Gruyere mac and cheese with edamame. Yowsa! I’m a sucker for dessert wine and closed the night with a glass of 2003 Jaden Ice wine from Okanagan Valley BC. I’ve never smoked and I almost had a cigarette after.

Also, I couldn’t resist following in Bro Barack’s footsteps and dined with a friend at Sepia, a delightful new American, locavore spot in downtown Chitown. The Hudson Valley smoked duck carbonara style with whole wheat pasta and egg yolk blended at the table was first-rate as was the artisan pork chop that was the size of some people’s shoes. I dialed back on my wine consumption but did experience the glory of a Banyuls, which the restaurant doesn’t have on its website.

So from all this we went to O’Hare, Starbucks and Puck’s sandwiches. Once home, we reconnected with some 2004 EXP Sirah that got the job done but you wouldn’t proudly introduce it to friends and some of the 2005 Bedell Merlot that’s one of the best expressions of North Fork Merlot I’ve been privileged to drink. We also bought a mixed case with a few roses, some Treanas Viognier/Marsanne blend and Caymus Conundrum. More about all of those later.

It’s been the Negress’ experience that when you buy a case of wine, you will need quite a bit of it sooner rather than later. I wrote up my multimedia report for some of the honchos at Dying Media, did some followup with contacts from Unity and helped out a divorced pal whose ex likes to play Follow The Bouncing Ball with her alimony checks. There were the usual knots of whispering in the newsroom, but any media organization worth its salt should always have staff gossiping, speculating and whining a bit. All of those pastimes are essential writing and reporting tools. You have to hone them somewhere when you’re not writing four grafs on the Bundt Cake Festival or filing online updates about homegrown rock stars.

However, when the e-mail went out from HR that the publisher wanted to see Everyone in the accounting zone, let’s just say you could cue up Bonnie Raitt’s “Let’s Give Them Something To Talk About” but add a more dire subtext.  Sure enough, a simple take home message — a couple of hundred buyouts and union concessions by beginning of October or Dying Media would be on the auction block.

Whoa. Talk about the trout slap of the century. The Negress needed time to think. Say, about 10 or 15 minutes. Reader, I took it. Now I’m waiting on two unions and 199 other people to make up their minds.

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