The Angry Young Man

What better way to wish in one’s 35th birthday than by imbibing pathetically weak, yet delightfully tacky, pseudo-Polynesian drinks cursed with monikers like “The Bora Bora Horror” at the infamous Tonga Room at the Fairmont Hotel? 35 years old, man. I’m 40% of my way through this life and I still have yet to conquer the world and force all you mother fuckers to do my bidding. Curses.

On Saturday, Bill and I took a mini-break to Mendocino. We drove up the 101 to 128 and meandered our way through the Anderson Valley, stopping at several of the wineries along the way. Should be Valley of the German Ladies, by the way, as every winery we stopped at was staffed by a no-nonsense milchfrau, eager to sell us wine. Bill labeled them collectively as Ilke, Queen of Sudden Oak Death, in commemoration of the blight that appears to have taken out most of the valley’s majestic oak trees. I just wondered how so many German ladies managed to find their way to someplace as remote as the Anderson Valley.

Our first stop was at the Scharffenberger Winery, where we tasted some sparkling wines and a decent zinfandel. Bill and I had been engaged in a debate in the car about the proper pronunciation of the word Gewürztraminer. Bill pronounces it GewürztramEEner, whereas I learned from a wine collecting former co-worker that it’s pronounced GewürztrAHminer. I urged Bill to ask the German lady, who gladly informed us that the pronunciation is in fact GewürztrAHmEEner, a happy medium between the two. In gratitude for this correction, Bill bought a bottle of sparkling wine, I picked up some zinfandel.

Our next stop was the Brutacao winery. There the German lady, a delightful bohemian type with bright red dyed eyebrows, did a great job of roping us in with evenly handed measures of a very wide variety of wines. She also enthralled us with tales of her former life in SF, how her plants flourished back when she moved from the Haight to the Mission, and how she and her partner bought a dog when they moved to Mendocino five years earlier. She even joined us in a glass of wine. Man, she was good, and I unloaded more American dollars on a bottle of pinot noir.

Next we arrived at the Navarro winery. To be honest, I wasn’t bowled over by any of the wines we had tasted. The zinfandel and pinot noir I had bought were good, but not stunning. This changed at Navarro, where I fell over dead for two very good, very complex Rieslings. Resigned to building a collection, I forked out even more American dollars and bought a couple bottles. They were so good, I had to have them.

At this point, Bill and I agreed that we should stop visiting wineries before we spent all our American dollars on wine and before I drove us off the road in a drunken stupor. Still, the minute we came upon the Roederer Estate, Bill said, “Ooh! Ooh!” and insisted that we make a stop. Alas, the German lady there was not pleased to see us, so we made her pour every champagne they had, then we grabbed some bottles and smashed them on the ground, laughed “ha ha” and ran out, got into the car and drove away really fast. Not really. Bill bought a bottle of sparkling wine.

Grand total – seven bottles of wine in the trunk of the car.

We reached the coast around 5:00 in the p.m., and after discovering the notorious Fool’s Rush Inn of “Tales of the City” fame, finally arrived in Mendocino. What’s to say about Mendocino? It’s really a village. It’s also delightful, quaint, and charming. I want to buy a complex of 19th century buildings and move there right this minute.

We stayed at the Mendocino Hotel, which is a charming complex located along Main Street. After being fed the spiel by the over eager young man at the front desk, we retired to our room – king sized bed, fireplace, a warm boyfriend, seven bottles of wine, what more could one ask for?

We dropped off our luggage and took a walk around the village. We trekked out to the headlands and looked at the sea, visited the local bookstore – a real bookstore – and then made our way to 955 Ukiah for dinner. Dinner was excellent, both food and particularly the service. Later, we retired to our room, where we laid by the fireplace, discussing the issues of the day, me carefully sipping the wine we bought while Bill threw back 3 or 4 bottles. It was the perfect birthday.

The next day, after brunch in the hotel restaurant, we headed back to the City. Considering the copious rainfall, we made excellent time. When we reached Santa Rosa, I received a message from my flatmate Redondo, informing me that he’s moving in with his boyfriend of 4 months. Gee, didn’t see that coming. Anyway, discussed my living situation options with Bill and have decided that I’ll be moving out myself in May. Time to live alone again…

On a more solemn note, on Friday evening, Sister Woman Bridey informed me that a distant acquaintance of mine, Valerie Simpson, killed herself last week. Valerie was not really a friend of mine, rather the friend of a former friend. She and I only hung out as part of a group about half a dozen times, generally when I was home from college during Christmas break or on similar occasions. All the same, I liked her and often asked after her when I spoke with my former friend on the telephone. I knew that the last few years had been difficult for her. I was shocked by the news, as I am whenever I hear about the death of one of my contemporaries. It gives me pause to stop and be thankful for the love and support that I do have. Anyway, here’s a little Death Cab for Cutie for you, Valerie. Safe journey home.