Time was, long ago in the days of my youth, and even into my young manhood,

When there was neither coffee nor wine in the whole state of Washington worth mentioning.  You had to go almost to Chicago in one direction, or to San Francisco in the other direction, to get a good cup of coffee--and wine was pretty much out of the question.  Then of course, in the 1980's, Starbucks happened, and then wine, first child-like, delicious Rieslings, then reds, in the 1990's and 2000's, of French-like complexity and subtlety (compared to the robust, Italianate red wines of California).

And so, a couple of days ago, doing my monthly shopping at the Honolulu Safeway, I found a bottle of Washington state Merlot for a reasonable twelve dollars:  a little cloudy, but far from insipid, with a softness of tannins and a violaceous redolence of cherries, blackberries and tobacco that perfectly complements red meats.  Times have indeed changed.

Live and Learn

My computer being restored to me after nearly a week's dismal death, I've been watching the much-anticipated first episode of the second season of Sense8, in which for a very schocking surprise our two most comely male Latin principals are exhibited in a photograph on the Internet and on the movie screen of a college classroom butt-fucking.  The professor (one of the fuck-buddies exhibited) asked a surly male member of his class what he saw in the photograph, and was answered "shit-packing porn."  To which he said, in all his Latin beauty and simplicity, "Well, I see two guys who love one another making love.  And I see art.  For Art is nothing other than making private love public."  Jeez, how times have changed.  

Or maybe not so much.  While my computer's been down, I've been reading The Little Flowers of il Messer Santo Francesco, in the original old Umbrian dialect like I like to do when Modernity and its Devices fail me--reading this morning where san Francesco orders frate Ruffino, "the noblest man of his town," and a cousin of sta. Chiara, to go into the cathedral in the city and "strip naked as the day you were born, and climb up into the pulpit, and preach to the people whatever the Lord inspires you to preach."  And then, repenting of what he'd just ordered this noblest of men (and how good-looking we can only imagine) to do, Saint Francis follows him into the church, and takes off his clothes, and mounts the pulpit beside Brother Rufino--the sight of all of which male nakedness causes "the men and boys" to snicker and and say rude things--until they all, both men and women, are overcome by the sweetness and power of Saint Francis's preaching.  Then the two saintly men put their clothes back on and walk back to the Portiuncula.  What I wouldn't have given to see that noble cousin of St. Clair's cock!