This is me and my friend Katie Malia.

I would like to thank her for peeling herself off this Sunset Boulevard billboard…

…and flying up from Los Angeles for our Pirate Prom. We like it when silhou-celebrities pop in on our events.

If you wanna know more about this Ivy-League dropout, click here to read the bio I wrote for her website.

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.

We’re not promising that Steven Colbert will be there himself (especially since we created this ourselves on a crafty website), but it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t read and heed the sign. Take our advice. BUY YOUR TIX. Oh, and did we mention that it’s a benefit for kids who can’t write so good? Well, it is, and we’d like to be able to donate some booty to 826 Valencia so that the world becomes a better place, one typeo at a time.

So, are you with us or against us?

Do you want kids to write good or not?

We’ve always kind of feared that if we set foot in a church our skin would immediately bubble and fall off in sheets, but this morning, our worst fears were confirmed. At 9:14 a.m. we received an email from one of our fire-and-brimstone Wine Club members. Perhaps he has read Sinners at the Hands of an Angry God a few too many times, but after seeing the Tattoo Art Show on our walls he flat out canceled his membership to our Party Army Wine Club.

“I was fairly disgusted by the art on your walls,” he said. “It was as if hell had advanced to Westside Road.” Oh God. How did he know! But everyone, calm down. Don’t worry. Stan is gonna pray for us. Yup. We are in Stan the Man’s prayers. “I pray that God will show you the truth in your lost pursuit of zeal in 2006.” Phew! Anyways, I’m not sure why our irreverent approach to wine would have appealed to a guy like this in the first place, but Stan, thanks for showing us the light. You will be missed!

I can only wonder what he would have done if he saw our Naomi Brilliant’s series of twisted food photographs.

(Yes, before our Wine Hero created Roshambo from her grandfather’s vineyards and her own warped sensibilities, she was a budding photographer and artist in Portland. Perhaps this “Hamster Hoagie” is what led DETAILS magazine to say that “With a feather tattoo on the back of her left leg and a dragonfly on the back of her right, Naomi Brilliant is blessed with the graceful kind of morbidity of a Tim Burton movie princess.”)

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.

For all of you who missed last year’s Pirate Prom, we’re hosting yet another wild and crazy fundraising event for 826 Valencia. Staged in the winery’s sleek space lounge of a tasting room, the night promises beats, dancing, and a pirate band singing sea shanties. And of course, the party wouldn’t be complete without our fine fermented grapestuff. So, what are you waiting for? Dust off your eye patch and plumed hat and get on up to starry Sonoma County for an unforgettable adventure. Oh, and if you don’t have wheels, a San Francisco Pirate Party Bus will bring you up and back. BUY YOUR TICKETS HERE.

Captain Bennetthook organized last year’s “Peg-Leg Dance Off.” I was off playing didjeridoo with Jimmy Gnecco of OURS or something, but the word on the street was that it was “definitely one of the top five or six peg-leg dance off’s in wine country in all of 2005.”

(Thanks to all the OURS fans that showed up in droves on such short notice for Jimmy’s special acoustic appearance).

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.

I think this cartoon says it all. Ever since the year 2001, when our first vintage of un-oaked Imago Chardonnay beat out hundreds of other whites to win the “Sonoma County Harvest Fair Sweepstakes,” Roshambo has proven itself to be more than clever packaging. While WE DO NOT THINK YOU SHOULD EVER BUY A WINE BECAUSE OF ITS HIGH SCORES AND AWARDS, we do appreciate the wine trade magazines and tastemakers, sommeliers and everyday Jen-n-Jeff’s who consistently give us a Ropert-ready 2 thumbs up. Because, to be perfectly honest, we know that no matter how much you love our elaborate antics and attitude, parties and piercings, if you don’t love what’s inside the bottle then we are nothing more than a gimmick. And if you show me someone who wants a gimmick over a good wine, I’ll finally feel rich and happy, giddy and gay because I will have a buyer for that Brooklyn Bridge I’ve been meaning to unload. Ta-Da!!!!

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…

For all of you who aren’t familiar with the Raconteurs - Jack White’s side project - here’s a cool new video for their song, “Broken Boy Soldiers.” It’s the brainchild of visionary photographer and filmmaker Floria Sigismondi. She is the dark and twisted mind behind some of the most evocative and riveting music videos of the past decade, including Marilyn Manson’s “Beautiful People.” Earlier this year I had the rare opportunity to work with her on Fiona Apple’s “O’ Sailor” video. I could go on and on and on about her…