Much of what makes Roshambo such an exciting experience (besides the incredible tasting wine) is the relationships we have developed with YOU, the people. Roshambo has always been about bringing together a community of fun and interesting people. People who are seeking a new wine culture that’s free from snobbery and elitism. And whether you are new to wine or a seasoned vet, Roshambo offers something for everyone. We want you to wear whichever mask you want, and drink us out of a jelly jar if that’s how you do. We like to think of this as Naomi’s living, breathing art project and as all of you as participants in this Party.

During our transition into the new and improved tasting room, this Roshamblog has been an exciting way for us to continue expressing our personality and playful spirit. And now, I’d like to expand our mission and highlight YOU and the things that make you laugh or cry, think or feel. With that said, I’d like to introduce a new category to the Blog: Roshambuddies. Our hope is that you will write us with your photos, your stories, your links to fun stuff online, or whatever. We want to turn the spotlight on YOU. Let’s show the world who our Roshambuddies are.

Starting with Audrey…

Have you ever played Scrabble with the kind of person who can throw one letter on the board and somehow flip it into a 63-point bonanza? You know, the annoying kind of player who knows “XI” is the fourteenth letter in the Greek alphabet? Well, here’s one of them (caught in clumsiness!). Meet Audrey Sherry Gunshor, one of our best Roshambuddies. She’s a whip-smart geology teacher in Aspen, but her nerdy tendencies are sometimes hard to swallow. Not just because of her facility in the game of Scrabble, but because of all the environmental petitions she forwards to everyone she knows. (Not that there’s anything wrong with environmentalism and activism, but how about a personalized email once an Ice Age? Can you manage that, Audrey?) Normally, her emails are promptly deleted, but for some reason today I felt compelled to click on the unidentified link. What followed was me clumsily flopping off my chair in an apoplectic fit of laughter. If you haven’t already seen this spoof tequila ad, watch and enjoy…

Thank You Audrey for sharing.

This is from the latest issue of Vice Magazine.  Illustrator Johnny Ryan hit the nail on the head with this one.  Everyone I’ve shown it to has laughed their asses off, leading to a rather astute comment by my friend Rev Pacheco,  “We’re the only people in the world who would find this even remotely funny.  Everyone else hates us for it.”  Good point, Rev.

It seems that some people “upstairs” think that I’m “running without a leash” on this little Roshamblog. Apparently I need to have more “central messaging.” Something to “drive sales.”

“It can’t always be about you,” is what I’m told.

And so, from now on things are going to change around here. There will be no more funny business. Nothing but sales-driven drivel incredibly interesting content about our wines. With that in mind, I’d now like to direct you to our online shopping cart.
So what are you waiting for?

Buy Our Wine!!!

(To weigh in on the “central messaging” nonsense issue, kindly comment below).

We always love it when rock stars like The Police endorse and embrace what we’re doing here at Roshambo. Especially when they flash our logo on stage. I mean why toil in anonymity when we have access to such big name brand ambassadors?

(Oh, and Sting, you need not worry. We read you loud and clear. We’ll have those two cases of wine sent right over to the Green Room!)

Even though we have some issues with Bud Light and their overtly slutty commodification of the noble sport of RPS, I couldn’t help but laugh my ass off at their new Super Bowl commercial. Though the boys from the World RPS didn’t crack a smile, I thought it was quite funny, and further proof that rock, paper, scissors has slammed onto the pop cultural landscape with a thud. Can you spell ‘zietgeist’?

Anyways, if you ask me, it’s only a matter of time before our Rock, Paper, Scissors line of screwcap wine is recognized for what it is - the hippest (and yummiest) damned bottle of red and white grapestuff for under $10.

(P.S. - If you didn’t blink at that earlier spelling then you can’t spell ‘zeitgeist.’ But no worries. I NEVER beat Naomi in Scrabble and I’m supposedly a “writer.”)

My list of neurotic tendencies is crowded and well-documented, like crying while watching a Dove commercial. And I just discovered another one to add to it. Hostess syndrome. There’s always some behind-the-scenes hiccup that makes it hideously impossible for me to enjoy the party. It’s kind of like having a zit spring up between your eyes and feeling like a unicorn horn is growing out of your skull. Even if nobody else can see it, the bump creeps into your foreground and eclipses all reason.

Last year, it was the conspicuously long bathroom lines and so this year we tweaked it and voila… we had two blue plastic poopers on hand. And last night it was the complete lack of amplification for the gypsie band we booked. Shiri from the Sour Mash Hug Band said they didn’t normally plug into amps and so, being the niggardly and shortsighted guy that I am, I didn’t press the matter and rent cords and mics, stands and a sound tech. This was okay when they were playing inside the tasting room as their sound carried…

…But not so much outside. When Zack cut the turn tables so that the band could have their promised 30-minute outdoor jam, it felt like we had all been thrown into a sensory deprivation chamber. A vacuum seized the space and instantly sucked all the air out of the meteor showered sky. You could practically hear the whistle of the party’s last breath. Without amps, you couldn’t hear the acoustic band and the silence was so severe and thorough that all I could hear was… da-dumb, da-dumb… the fight-or-flight beating of my heart. And all I could see was people reaching for their car keys.

It was like that moment when the adorable young tap dancing duo that you’ve been photographing and filming for ten minutes as they tip tap smack for tips finally passes around the fedora and you suddenly glaze over with instant amnesia and pretend like you weren’t paying any attention to them before wandering away. Know the feeling?

A song or two later - roughly ten minutes into the band’s thirty minute set - one DJ made the troubling, but game saving announcement - “Let’s hear it for the band!” He cranked on the sound system and the beats ripped through the valley once again. The gypsies in the band were visibly stunned that they’d been cut off so swiftly.

Sure, the party was saved and the starry danceland was teeming once again, but to be quite honest, given the circumstances it was a little tough to enjoy this revival.
I know that these kinds of things happen, that sometimes the cookie crumbles all over your nice white shirt or you burn the toast, but until the Sour Mash Huggers send me a smoke signal, a text message, or something, anything to let me know that they understand, I think I’ll need to hit up my doc for some Ambien.

NOTE: This post will evolve as we receive your stories and photos from the event. Please SEND ME THINGS LIKE YOUR COOL PHOTOS and I’ll try to incorporate some of them on the site. I can’t stress this enough… your participation in the blog - your comments, stories, ideas and images - is what we need for takeoff. We’ll fly higher than an eagle, if you’ll be the wind beneath our wings.

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In Dumb and Dumber the lovable loser Lloyd Christmas famously asked, “Hey, wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?” I think most moviegoers would pretty much agree that it was, in fact, the most annoying sound in the world and that he should please, please, pretty please STOP doing that immediately. But last night’s Pirate Prom might have set a new gold standard with the cacophonous chorus of three hundred revelers ARRRRRRRRRRRING themselves through the night. And leading the charrrrrrrrrrrrge was our very own Desiree. (FYI, she is very single and begging me to pimp her out on the blog. We’re accepting applications from both guys and gals).

And while I am postively repulsed and allergic to a whole slew of sounds - like that of the pug snoring right now on my right foot - few things wear on me like advanced exposure to Pirate Talk. (This says alot since I grew up in New Joise where people tawked like this). ARRRRRRR!!! just ain’t my thing. And nothing shivers me timbers more than a glass of charrrrrrrrrrrrrdonay. In fact, as far as I’m concerned the only time this pirate talk is anything other than irritating is when my kinda-sorta-stepson Justice tells his new joke: “Have you heard about the new pirate movie? It’s rated arrrrrrrrrr.” That’s cute. But he’s three. So unless you are Captain Jack Sparrow, my vote lies with David W. Boyles and his annual International NEVER Talk Like a Pirate Day!.

BUT, I must admit that there was a bright and shiny and secret treasure in every last Arrrrrrr last night. It was, after all, the sound of hundreds of plumed and costumed women and men unleashing their inner girls and boys… the echo of a cultish winery “Fighting for Fun in a Winey World.” And of course, it was good fun in the name of a really good cause - helping the folks at 826 Valencia teach kids to write more gooder.

Our condolences to the neighbors though, who called us for two and a half hours until just after 1 a.m. when we finally pulled the plug. I guess there’s something about the combination of Mackie Subwoofers and DJs Zack Darling and Malarkey that doesn’t add up to sleep.

And this is to say nothing of the people howling in love and lust at the spontaneous appearance of sexy fire dancers…

So, again, sorry neighbors! Our Tasting Room manager, Steve, will stop by in a few days with apologies and wine. But don’t worry, he cleans up well. He doesn’t always look like a bloodthirsty raptor.

And sorry to people like Stan who might have been offended by the porn I projected onto an opposite building. How could I resist a pirate porn flick with the industry’s all-time biggest budget? (Unfortunately, Blockbuster only had the R-rated cut but still, it provided an occassional eyeful).

The Pirate Prom was just one of those experiences where anything could happen. And some strange things did. Like at the end of the night when someone decided to stage his own little Burning Man and TORCHED OUR FUCKING PIRATE.

Thanks Larry Lighter. You saved us from having to pack up (the brand new prop Naomi and I scored last week in NYC) and store it for the next party. Luckily now all I have to do is sweep the ashes into the waterwall. You’re the best.

Oh, and I’d also like to give a BIG shout out to the two drunk guys who I caught striking the outdoor lights and roshambo sign with what looked like nine irons. You were totally awesome. Laughing and loud and maniacal like I imagine the Duke Lacrosse team to be. Woohoo! Two points for you! Can’t wait to have you back again.

Ya see? All sorts of good fun! Now, if you didn’t make it and are now left feeling weak, peaked, and robbed, like you missed out on the wildest party bubbling up from wine country, well that’s because you did in fact drop the ball. BIG TIME. You can’t say we didn’t try to warn you. Hell, Stephen Colbert even put you On Notice.

Watch your Ass Darth Vader! That’s No Camel Toe!

Today’s glimpse of, how shall I put this, “art on the fringe of good taste” comes courtesy of our friend, Gabriel Alcaraz of Art & Mayhem. This wickedly talented tattoo & multi-media artist is currently showing two paintings at our gallery’s Tattoo Art Show.

A couple of years ago NYLON magazine flew me to Vegas to profile Harry Morton, the 24-year-old heir to the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino. Since this was my first ever trip to Vegas, and since Jessica Simpson was throwing a birthday party for Nick at the hotel that night, you can probably guess how a Celebrity Slut like myself would be like, totally, like OMG!!! Anyways, Harry had opened a Mexican restaurant at the Hard Rock cheekily named the Pink Taco. Well, these days it seems that he’s creating quite the stir. Not just because of his much publicized break-up with Lindsay Lohan. But with his restaurant’s controversial name. Here’s an absolutely hysterical clip from The Daily Show about Harry’s Pink Taco.

My apologies if you all have already seen this. It has, after all, been circulating around the web for A YEAR. (Hey, nobody ever accused me of being on the cutting edge!) But I’m betting that not everyone spends as much time online as our webmaster David who first brought this clip to my attention. Regardless, it’s a very funny diversion.

This is a spoof trailer for the very scary flick, “The Shining.” The backstory can be found in this New York Times article. Otherwise, I suggest you grab your Kleenex, click on this link, and brace yourself for this riveting romantic comedy.

For all of you unfamiliar with McSweeney’s, we strenously suggest that you bookmark the site and get your daily dose of their acerbic wit. McSweeney’s is the irreverent brainchild of Bay Area literary wunderkind Dave Eggers. There’s one piece in particular that, even two years later, still makes me cackle madly like a rabid hyena. Hope you enjoy…

HIKING SAFETY TIPS

by Jim Stallard

WARNING! MOUNTAIN LIONS HAVE RECENTLY BEEN SIGHTED IN THIS AREA

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PLEASE TAKE NOTE OF THE FOLLOWING PRECAUTIONARY GUIDELINES TO ENSURE A SAFER HIKE

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Keep close watch on small children in your group. They are mountain-lion magnets. Once on the trail, get away from them as fast as possible.

Pets that are off-leash may increase your danger. A dog that runs ahead of you on the trail may encounter a mountain lion and run to you for protection, leading the threat directly back to you. A remote-controlled shock collar will keep the pet at a safe distance

Click to continue reading…

(NOTE: At the Pirate Prom, Party Army Member Amanda told me she loved the blog, but that the Deep Thoughts, yeah, well, they could be better.  Well Amanda, I KNOW THAT.  I was kind of hoping to get a swell of YOUR deep thoughts so that we could all watch this list grow over time.  Can I get some submissions?)
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You can’t really judge a wine by its nose or its legs, because, well, wine is a liquid and it doesn’t have a nose or any legs.

Don’t worry about accidentally pronouncing the ‘t’ in Merlot. That’s nothing compared to the time my mother caught me humping my bedroom carpet.

My wife told me that I was drinking my wine out of the wrong shape of glass and I told her, “Shows what you know, all the wine at the store was in glass shaped exactly like this.” (Courtesy of Paul P.)

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Got your own Deep (Wine) Thoughts? Send ‘em. We’ll post the best ones.