Seems as though most wine critics and tasters are bunch of posers who couldn’t tell a Beaujolais from a Bass Ale.
In other news, Queen Marie Antoinette was guillotined yesterday.
As an aside, I once did a couple of wine courses over a period of two weeks at the Bellingham and Meerlust estates. During that adventure, I learned that a.) there are some people who can in fact tell the grape varietals from a sip of wine, and b.) there are only about a couple dozen such people, tops, in the entire world. Blindfolded, most people can’t tell red from white from beer (seriously, I’ve seen a few of those challenges).
Here’s a tip when dining out and the sommelier asks you to “taste” the wine: don’t do it. Pick up the sample glass, swirl it a couple of times and then sniff it cautiously. If it’s not rancid — and you’ll know that when you smell it — just nod and say,”That’ll do.” If he says, “Don’t you want to taste it?” reply “I don’t need to.” Then sit back and carry on with your conversation, ignoring him.
For extra points: if it’s a dark red like a cabernet or burgundy, wince slightly, then tell the sommelier to let it breathe for ten or so minutes before he serves it to the table. (That’s a cheat, by the way; all reds need to breathe a little after uncorking.)
The wine world is full of phonies who like to show off. The way to make people think you know what you’re talking about is to say less, not more. What you do (see above) is more impressive than what you say.
Oh FFS it’s Monday already:
So before we get to fixing things, a little humor:
And just to speed you on your way, a couple pics of someone named Linda Lusardi, first as a youngin:
…and as she looks today:
“Dear Dr. Kim:
“I understand that you used to play in a rock band, so perhaps you can help. Our gig band is in need of a keyboards player, so we set up a whole bunch of auditions. Astonishingly, every single applicant was female, and we’ve never had any women in the band before. The problem is that all the applicants were excellent musicians, and none of us guys can decide which one we like best. I’ve attached pics in the hope that this will guide you to help us decide.”
— The Undecided Quartet
Women are problematic in a rock band, for all sorts of reasons. If they’re single, they will inevitably get a boyfriend who gets jealous of the guys in the band and will try to get her to quit. If she’s already married, chances are that her husband will eventually start to feel the same way, AND the odds are also good that she’ll get pregnant and quit the band to look after her brat, or some such stupid reason.
I’m not even going to get into the scenario where two or more of your bandmates are going to fall in love with her and get jealous of each other; or if they’re married, will have an affair with her thus angering the wifey — all of which means that the band could break up over the bitch. Do you really want to have to deal with all that?
Anyway, now that I’ve got that off my chest, let’s look at the pics…
— Dr. Kim
P.S. Choose the one who can read music the best. Or the one with the biggest tits. Either is good.
While wandering along the various highways and byways of Ye Olde Internette (i.e. looking at stuff that wasn’t written yesterday by some illiterate / ignorant Millennial), I stumbled upon something that I hold near and dear to my heart: a Maserati 4200 GT from the early 2000s. Here’s what it looks like, in both Coupé and Spyder configurations:
Now here’s why I love this creature [2,000 lines of drooling foolishness redacted]:
- 4.2-liter V8 Ferrari engine giving
- 385 horsepower (395 in the later GranSport)
- Skyhook suspension system
- manual transmission
- proper 4-seater (not 2 adults + 2 amputees, like most of the ilk)
But those are just the technical specs, and impressive though they are, a whole bunch of cars today can produce the same or better.
However, what gets my various body parts tingling, moving and enlarging is the sheer beauty of this car. This guy (who uses his twelve-year-old Mazza 4200 as a daily driver!!) puts it perfectly:
I’m a huge fan of the beautiful styling. I believe it’s a timeless design. When the 3200/4200 was initially released it may have seemed a bit bland for the time. But today with every new car resembling a transformer mated with largemouth bass fish front end, it really makes me appreciate the elegant smooth aerodynamic curves of 90’s vehicles.
I just hope he doesn’t mind if I steal “a transformer mated with largemouth bass fish front end”, because I’m gonna. And a reminder of the topic under discussion:
I absolutely love the smooth, elegant lines that flow gracefully, compared to the angular offerings of most of today’s sports cars. And I actually prefer the “standard” styling above over the later GranSport’s, which while also lovely, is starting to look dangerously fish-mouthed:
I am also completely cognizant of the fact that “older Maserati” and “daily driver” are not terms that should be combined in a single sentence.
But you could do worse. A whole lot worse.
Continuing with my ongoing fascination for sexbots and how they’re going to change society comes this conclusion, from a chick writer no less:
The human experience of love, companionship and unconditional acceptance we often expect from our pets is being hacked, replicated and ultimately replaced by dolls who live in the cloud during the day and function as your robot wife/sex slave/ couch buddy at night. She can be anything you want her to be and demands nothing (unless you want her to). Soon she’ll be able to make sandwiches. I can’t help but wonder if a large majority of men won’t opt for the conflict-free humanoid over the real thing, with all of our baggage and hormones and mothers-in-law.
I don’t think it will be a majority of men, but it’s going to be a bigger number than anyone would expect — and for this, we can thank the Feministicals, woo hoo.
Prediction: It’ll be all over when the sexbots can make us sandwiches.
And pour a decent gin & tonic.
And reload our favorite .45 ACP cartridges… [okay, that’s enough, Kim.]
Tell me that you haven’t felt this way about corporate (or government-) intransigence at least once in your life, and I’ll call you a liar.
Bereaved relatives confronted staff at an insurance company with the body of their loved one after the firm refused to pay out until they proved he was dead.
Two women were filmed carrying the corpse inside a branch of the Old Mutual financial firm somewhere in KwaZulu-Natal province, South Africa, this week after their claim on a funeral policy was initially rejected.
Horrified bank staff watched on as the women took the body inside, having driven it to the branch from the morgue, and demanded a payout.
Alongside the corpse the women handed over paperwork for the man’s life insurance claim along with his ID and death certificate, local media reports.
Witnesses said the ladies told staff they would not leave the branch until Old Mutual paid out the death claim in full.
After hurried discussions between Old Mutual management and phone calls to head office, it was decided to agree to honour the insurance claim – as long as the ladies removed the dead body.
The witness said: ‘As soon as the ladies were promised they would be paid they marched back inside the office and in front of the counter grabbed an end each and carried the corpse back out. Two men went to their aid and helped them manoeuvre the body bag into the boot of the car that they brought the body in and people were just watching open mouthed as all this was played out. The women said a loved one was inside the body bag and that bringing him to the Old Mutual office seemed to be the only way to prove their claim to them that he had actually passed away’ he said.
But before you start applauding, there’s this:
Responding to the viral video on Twitter, Old Mutual said that the incident was ‘most unsettling’ and they insisted that they were ‘sympathetic towards the family during this difficult time’.
I’ll bet you were “sympathetic”, you pencil-pushing motherfuckers, which is why these poor people had to resort to such an extreme measure. I hope you were so “upset” that you have nightmares for a week.
Now y’all can applaud.