Five funny wine tasting notes



TASTING NOTE: This ruby rich delight is packed with mouth-watering sumptuousness with hints of bramble, blackberry, boysenberry, Don Cherry and Frankenberry flourishes. A treat to open tonight with beef testicles or lamb spleen escabeche. Also an ideal companion for manic-depression. Shows promise to last longer than your belief in an afterlife.  



TASTING NOTE: Straw yellow colour, reminds of bottles peed in when too lazy to leave the couch. Wafts of apples, pears and armpits on the subway, this one surely won’t disappoint. Break the seal tonight to help you forget you have to repeat the same day tomorrow or save it for next year after you’ve realized anyone can do your job. Good with pork or pancakes, this stunner is ripe for self-medicating any time of day.




TASTING NOTE: Dark as David Fincher, this beauty unwinds waves of hovercraft oil, BDSM dungeon sweat and Fair-trade biodynamic hand-cultivated chocolate from a mountaintop parcel of land in a coastal rainforest. A brooding mistress of devilish wonder – uncork it for a seance tonight or pair it with freshly killed goat from a voodoo ritual. This one will make you wonder what you’re doing with your life.



TASTING NOTE: Medium-bodied garnet with whispers of lavender, tulips and cacti – this one will have you convinced you’re a poet. Don’t kid yourself. Your verses are terrible in comparison with the virtuosity of this Shakespearean dream child. Open it tonight by yourself to commune with the world’s four major religions or create your own religion sharing it with friends. You won’t forget this celestial ejaculation!



TASTING NOTE: A nose of melted plastic, burnt toast and deck shoes worn without socks, this one is a true gift. Every sip brings reminisces of suntanning after a morning of mosquito bites and family conflict. Great for tonight as an accompaniment for anxiety and an uncertain future plus goes remarkably well with the movie Scarface. What are you waiting for? Say hello to your little friend.

World Cup blue balls

I’m Canadian and grew up with hockey and baseball as my two primary sports. While I played soccer as a kid – I’ve never followed it and can only cite Real Madrid and Manchester United as teams I know off the top of my head.

Nevertheless, I like sports – so I planned to watch some World Cup games this past weekend, and not because of some romantic notion for the “old country”. Yes, I have English family and distant, distant ties to France. But I’m Canadian. I’ll cheer more seriously for the Montreal Canadiens or Ottawa Senators than a country from which I’m once removed.

But I still want to watch and see what soccer is all about. (Yes, soccer. Not “football” as much of the North American media now refer to it, in what seems like a contrived attempt to fit in. “Football. See, I respect your sport. I’m cultured and worldly just like you!”)

Firstly, I think the World Cup tournament lives up to its name much better than Major League Baseball’s World Series. According to the World Series, the U.S., Canada, the Dominican Republic, Cuba, Korea and Japan are the world, which is maybe also how Disney envisioned things when they wrote “a small world after all”?

The second thing I’ve realized watching some games, goals are as rare as an albino platypus and corner kicks as ineffective as putting a cap on the BP oil leak, leading to failure 9 times out of 10.

In a hockey game, shots generally come at a goalie consistently, creating lots of goal chances. In soccer, it seems just kicking the ball on net is an accomplishment. The majority of the time the ball sails over, around or beside the net or just bobbles around in front of the net without the goalie touching it.

I quickly began to understand how scoring a goal in soccer is more of an engineering feat than scoring a goal in a hockey. It’s the equivalent of launching a space shuttle versus starting a car.

So many things have to go right in succession. A good pass, a good run or ball handle, a good view at the net, and a good kick on goal. Then it’s still no guarantee.

As a fan – you’re constantly disappointed. A good pass – yeah!, A good ball handle – holy fuck, yes!! – And then the ball is stolen. Shit!

The farther each sequence goes, the more brutal it gets without a goal:

A good pass – okay! A good run or ball handle – shit yeah! a good view at the net – Yes, yes, yes!! Oh, but he kicks it 50 feet over the goal.

Jesus Christ!

I felt like I’d developed blue balls, experiencing one failed climax after another.

In response, I began to lose enthusiasm for each good step, the longer the game went on:

A good pass – big deal!, A good run or ball handle – whoop-tee-doo he’s just gonna screw it up! a good view at the net – Whatever!! Sure enough, it would end with another ball rocketed into the crowd.

And then, finally – miracle of all miracles – like a photographer trying to capture a rare species that comes out once every 25 years between 8:12 and 8:13 during a full lunar cycle with an easterly wind and low tide – it happens.


The ultimate release.

I thought, of course, announcers scream it like this. They’re having an incredible orgasm, having been thwarted by 30 minutes of false promises.

Now that I understand pent up frustration is central to being a soccer fan, it makes sense some fans apply twenty pints of beer to the pain.