Journal, News, Guests by Jim Fitting
Republicanism is like a fine wine...
as long as you don't have to drink it.
Surprisingly the GOP primary has been so exciting that we have been following the news from state to state, from Iowa to Arkansas, and Michigan to Wisconsin. Who hasn't been wondering who might be chosen?
Then again I missed the election they said they had in Massachusetts, which is not unlike a football game where the other team doesn't show up. So when I went to France to inquire of the vignerons of Musigny what it was all about, it made about as much sense as anything. The vigneron spoke of the duality of the minerality in the wine; how first it's the visuality and then the flavor in the mouth. It's a young wine, but clear enough to see right through the Santorum and his BS, and then you get that hard rock right chalky taste of the Gingrich. They weren't buying it. Down in the Macon they said Christmas always comes on December 25th, but Easter comes on a different day every year. In other words you never can tell. It may take exactly 100 days for your grapes to ripen, or not, but eventually you have got to pick them. Ron Paul has probably been hanging around too long, so we got Mitt; Romney to most, mittens to me...oh boy.
In Beaujolais what do they say? They might be talking about the weather, where they once erected a cross in thanks to a great harvest (see picture). But they'll probably vote Socialist anyway. It's all a game, one can only watch and marvel (don't explain sings Lady Day) But there is still an election going on over here isn't there?
When we drove down to NYC past the sweetest paint job ever on a PT Cruiser, all pastel dragons and girls. We wanted to buy it on the spot, but of course we could not fit the tables and the pump organ in the back (and the fact of owning such a thing). We began to wonder whose election is this anyways. It was that old song about Barbara Allen, Jefferson was singing smackdab on the middle of hipster Disneyland (AKA Williamsburg), and they were having such a good time that they wouldn't shut up, and by the end of the night there might have been an altercation between those that were listening and the wild-eyed genius who wanted to take over the Rod and Gun to sing his song. At least the bad vibes coming his way slowed him down enough so that when Dinty's good vibes spilled the wine in the middle of Ain't Living Long Like This everything was Fine Fine Fine...And it was such an intimate time in that wonderful, ephemeral club and it was over all too soon. But there are always two sides to any story, so we drove fast to Maine to see what the fisherman on the wharf were thinking...We came close to finding out with Carol Noonan citing Portland bartenders of the past chapter and verse, long into the night. Any night in that barn on Stone Mountain is a burner, yeah it's got the mojo and we got a room at the dojo. I mean it's all right. We had Kimon and Duke and Laura too, and though Maine could go either way, we did our best to sway them, with Beertown, greasy coat and John Brown and all the rest.
The next day we drove all the way across New Hampshire, not stopping because who knows which way the wind blows around there. But we ended up in Brattleboro at a place called the Head Room Stages. And it is never a good thing when the manager mentions that a spelling bee across town might affect attendance at tonight's event. Well needless to say, we thanked the hearty few that came out and asked (rhetorically of course) how do you spell vacuity? Ah well, we were wishing we were in Montpelier, strumming on the shores of the Onion River right down the road from Bernie Saunder's place, and wondering if we could vote for him. Well probably not, so we cross our fingers and have another sip of dandelion wine, duck as many ads as we can all summer long and remember, there is an election in November. Don't forget to vote!
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