Tag Archives: wine

In Vino Veritas

In which I do a gig I feel good about… and drink WAY too much wine.

Yesterday I came home on my lunch break and took a shower and put on jeans and cute shoes. After work I came home to drop Bindu off and smear on some mascara. By seven I was at the Sapolil Cellars tasting room on Main street. The joint was packed.

The owner hugged me and pointed to my co-worker, KJ, whom I’d invited to come. (He’d been sick earlier in the week so I didn’t think he’d show, but there he was.) I sat with him for a bit and then the gig started. He and I ended up hanging out all night and having a freakin’ blast, going to the sorts of events we wouldn’t normally go to. (As he said later, “I haven’t had this much fun in Walla Walla in years. It’s like we went to another town, man.”)

RB and Cookie played a couple of tunes, then I went up and joined them. We did a good, long set and then took a break. It was early enough that it was still light out. During our second set, we had a keyboardist and a harp player sit in, and people were dancing by the end. We even got called back for an encore. All in all, a good gig. And the cash money at the end didn’t hurt, either. (This band pays me. I love it.)

A., the owner’s daughter (whom I adore because she’s funny as hell), kept pouring me wine so by the time we left the joint around ten I’d probably downed at least an entire bottle if not significantly more. I prudently put my grandmother’s car in the garage and caught a ride with KJ. We followed A. to the Flying Trout tasting room. The wine there was served in beer cups instead of stemware, the crowd was younger, the decor was minimalist industrial basement, and the DJ utterly failed to impress me. I ran around drunk and friendly and probably annoyed the hell out of many innocent (read: less drunk) people.

The truth of wine being that I adore people when I’m wine drunk and love to accost them and talk to them about themselves, but I never shut up long enough for them to do so. Hah! It’s amazing nobody smacked me. Srsly. I had SO much fun!

There was a couple in the crowd dressed in snow suits. The guy had goggles on, and would push them up onto his forehead only when talking. I asked the girl why she’d decided to wear a snowsuit to a tasting room, and she said it just seemed like the thing to do. I met a skater dude in his late 40’s with tons of ink and got him to take his shirt off for me. I scattered two other conversation groups merely by approaching with my mouth running. I saw one of the chicks who works at the Starbucks I go to. I saw A., the chick we’d followed there, once.

After that it gets blurry. I bought some Cheetos at a convenience store at some point, but they were too gross to eat, and I could not now tell you what store it was. At one point I thought I’d lost my wallet but it was easily found in KJ’s car. I didn’t get to bed until the sky was beginning to pale in the east.

The first time I woke up today I didn’t dig it that much, so I went back to bed and didn’t really start my day until six in the evening! I called RB and apologized for not answering when he’d called earlier in the afternoon, checked in with Becca, tried to eat at Rosita’s (closed Sundays) and ended up with a 7-layer burrito and a huge raspberry iced tea. Went to RB’s, listened to a bunch of Wilson Pickett, and discussed our set list for next weekend at the Balloon Stampede. (We’ll be on the Pepsi stage from 5 to 6:30. Come see us.)

Now I’m home and the dogs are sleeping on the rug. I have a couple of episodes of Doctor Who to watch, and several movies to choose from. I think I’m gonna hold the couch down, lest it suddenly decide to float away, and rest up for tomorrow: I have to do laundry and mow the lawn.

Another Chichi Wine Event! (It's like I'm in wine country or something!)

In which I get money for nothin’. (But no chicks for free.)

First of all, I haven’t washed my hair in 3 days, and I just want to get that out of the way before we go any further. Full disclosure and all that.

Yesterday afternoon RB left me a voicemail message at work saying that Sapolil Cellars‘ musicians had canceled and did I want to sing for money? I said hell yeah, and walked over there after I clocked out of work at eight. I stood next to the grand piano and sang totally unrehearsed songs with a piano player I’ve never played with and RB on electric. Eventually I got a mic, but I did the first several songs totally unplugged. The audience was gracious and attentive, because wine is a very social kind of drunk.

The vintner gave me two glasses of really good 2006 Syrah wine, told me I was a great singer, and then gave me fifty bucks! Who could ask for anything more?

After the gig – if I can even call such an impromptu setting that – we mingled a bit, and then RB gave me a ride home. I had a bowl of lentil soup and an awesome baby spinach salad and went to bed.

I’m gonna put the cash toward a gig clothes fund. I have no cute gig clothes.

Attending a chichi wine event.

In which I go out and have a lot of fun. And FAR too much wine!

Saturday afternoon Syl texted me; she and C were in town. Turns out RB had gotten a recording gig and had hired the rest of the band to schlep gear. C worked while Syl and I hung out Saturday night. When C was done, I invited them to crash in the front room to save them sleeping in the studio, which is filthy.

Sunday I made brunch and we had a lovely lazy morning. Syl & C left. I read and took a nap and generally lazed around. Gramma took me to Applebee’s for dinner that afternoon.

Sunday night C & Syl picked me up and gave me a comp ticket for night two of the recording event and we all went downtown to see the Randy Oxford Band.

The hostess tried to get RB to introduce the band. He didn’t feel like it, so I volunteered because I knew he would strip it out of the recording later and do a voice-over. (I hadn’t realized at the time that they were filming too.) I forgot to tell the crowd to turn off their cell phone ringers, and had to read both the venue’s and the band’s names off of a post-it note, but it was fun anyway.

Jazz The band opened with a jazz funk chart, then moved into Motown and blues. I liked them a lot, especially the rhythm section. The bass player was a monster player, with a lovely doo-wop falsetto he broke out on some Marvin Gaye covers. The drummer was solid as a rock; he also sang a medley during the third set.

The band leader, a trombone player, was a solid player and fun to watch but primarily his gift is in coalescing a kick-ass band around himself. Everybody got a chance to solo, and he invited a few local players up to sit in. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope to be invited up myself, but it didn’t happen… a good thing in the long run, ’cause I was shitfaced by halfway through the second set.

I befriended their vocalist, a fierce little black chick named Patty. After the first set (during which she did ‘Dr. Feelgood’: omfg I love that chart!) I explained that the mic she was using needed her to get right up on it or she’d sound thin. “Why didn’t they tell me that?” she asked, tilting her head toward the guys behind the board. “Because they’re men?” I said. She laughed and hugged me. I bugged her in between all her sets, and at the end of the night she gifted me with a heavily sequined blingy shawl she wears around her hips for gigs. “It’s very sparkly, so you don’t have to move that much,” she told me. She’s been singing for 40 years and had a lot of presence. The local folks told me I have way better chops, but chops don’t always matter. She had the gig, not me, and I thought she was wonderful and gracious.

The bass player said, “You’re the chick in that recording R played? Yeah? So when you movin’ to Tacoma?” It’s so nice when a monster player says something like that to a girl, don’t you find?

Later in the evening I met a flaming creature who danced with me and then invited me to a gay bar in the Tri Cities for his birthday in a few weeks.

After the gig, I packed microphones and ran around being a friendly, stupidly drunken spaz. Then C and I went to Shari’s and ate, then went back to the house where Syl was already asleep from when we’d brought her home between sets. I went to bed…

…and stayed in bed pretty much consistently until I had to come to work this morning. Wine hangovers? Suck.