You can jive
Having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene
Dig in the dancing queen.

ABBA, "Dancing Queen"
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Prologue - Back Home In Lahaina

Grant and Hardy met me in my new favorite Manhattan Beach restaurant. For those of you who don't know, it's south one block from Versailles on Sepulveda, and it's called Back Home In Lahaina. It specializes in Hawaiian cuisine, and so it's basically rice and meat. It's pretty inexpensive considering how much food you get, too. On my way there, driving Betty, I was on the corner of Lincoln and Washington near Marina del Rey when all of a sudden this lady just drifts into my lane. Not a straight up cut-off, more like "I'm going to be in this lane now." Before I do something rude and expressive, I notice that her mascara is running and that she's been crying. Clearly, she's having a much worse day than me, so I just let it slide. I'm on vacation, and life is alright.

Besides, I got a new computer from Tony in Glendale (named Poseidon) so I was in a chipper mood.

Carroll, giving me a ride to Burbank, and I had enough time before my departure that we were chilling in a local Starbucks near the airport. Here's one thing I like about L.A.: glamour is everywhere. Say what you will about the fake plastic lifestyles, but in my mind, it's the most obvious way of showing off vivacity without being too bubbly and annoying.

While I'm waiting in line with my boarding pass, the girl on the phone sitting next to me at the terminal tells her that she got really good grades in a class called 5X and that the teacher Glen George was really nice and helpful. I smile and say nothing.

Bobby and Ann greet me when I land in San Jose, and their house is high up in the hills of Los Gatos. Take a small hike out their front door and you're at the top of a clearing with a 180degree view of Silicon Valley. Directly below is Mountain View and the southern part of the Bay. Look off to the right and you can see San Jose. Look far off to the left and you can see Berkeley and Oakland. Light lights twinkled below, and you could actually see the Milky Way from that vantage point; we were well beyond the reach of the light polluted valley.

The next day we're knee deep in wine on a 90degree humid day in Napa Valley. The vineyards were: Turnbull, Robert Mondavi (the Reserve Room), St. Supery (the Reserve Room, again), Beaulieu Vineyards (BV), Silverado, and Van der Heyden. Mondavi had the wine of the day, a 92 Cab that tasted like desire and epiphany, bottled and labeled as contentment. Surprisingly, the 98 was closer to that sort of seduction, while the 96 simply fell flat. Who knew?

Before heading off to St. Supery, we had a picnic lunch under a large tree on the lawn of the St. Supery estate. We bought lunch at this grocery store that was about the size of Liz's apartment in Hermosa Beach. This place was packed, but was struck me as odd was that there were so many gorgeous people everywhere. It was a nightclub that sold groceries. Of course, being Napa, they sold the finest meats and cheeses, and we made the discovery that salmon pate tastes really good with emmenthal cheese. These are things you have to remember the next time you're in a glorified Eddie's Market with limos and SUVs parked outside, and when there's one register and the line reaches around the store and out the door.

At St. Supery (nothing exciting, even in the reserve room), we finished our last glasses and as we were exiting, I said to the pourer, "Thanks, Alicia." There was no name tags and she never told anyone her name. Of course, it was, in fact, her name, so she politely said goodbye. "How'd you know her name?" Ann asked.

On to the other vineyards: BV from the grocery store tastes better than BV at the wine bar. However, it did give me the opportunity to tell a lie, in that I told someone that I was a chef in Los Angeles at some fusion Indian cuisine restaurant. Silverado had an amazing view and passable wine. Van der Heyden, on the other hand, was the most fun. We got in touch with the vintner, and rather than drinking wines from a bottle, we were actually sampling them right out of the vat, pre-bottle and (in the case of the chardonnay) pre-barrel. A totally different experience, and it was kind of cool walking around with the vintner and getting wine from the vat's spigot rather than sitting and listening to some guy give a spiel. I feel sorry for the folks who had to sit and pay for their flights of bottled wine while the three of us walked through all the vats and barrels sampling what we wanted.

Chapter One - Trattoria la Siciliana

Driving down from Napa at 7pm, you could see the clouds creeping over the hills of Sausalito like cat's paws crawling into Marin County. It was truly a San Francisco moment, crossing the Golden Gate Bridge while listening to KGAY. During drive back, I was instantly hung over, but I guess that sort of thing happens when you gorge yourself on grape-related liquids. We were stuck in traffic for an ungodly amount of time because of all the parade-related festivities in The City, but as soon as I had some hot tea with dinner, I felt fine.

Sonoma involved Gloria Ferrer, where we had a post-breakfast snack of champagne and almonds. From there we ventured into the lower Sonoma valley, just north of the town of Sonoma (which is Spanish for "tourist trap"). We veered off into a side street and discovered a small winery named Wellington. Great selection of wines, including the best syrah I had all weekend. But what really caught my palette (and hence, my walette) was a white port that looked like more of an eiswein or a sauterne, but was distinctly a port when you tasted it. It smelled like banana nut bread, and was limited to just about 100 cases in production, and so is only available at that cash register. From there, we went to Kunde, who are famous for their caves where they store the wine barrels. These caves are naturally kept cool, and require only fans for air circulation. From there, we stumbled upon a catered party at Kenwood, for five dollars, you got a commemorative wine glass, all you can eat catered food along with paired wines, entry into a raffle, and entry into the reserve room as well. Definitely the best deal of the weekend. There was a lucious chardonnay paired with a chocolate-cinnamon-rubbed salmon salad. We ended the day at Chateau St. Jean, who closes a little later than most vineyards (at 6pm, rather than 5pm or 5:30pm) yet was not as crowded as most late tasting rooms. Here was the best gewurztraminer of the weekend, along with more lies involving me being a businessman from Klamath Falls.

From there we met up with Mark, Ming, and Andy at a great restaurant in Berkeley called Trattoria la Siciliana. Long-ass wait was worth it, even if it was cash-only, making it like a super-upscale Tarantinos. In fact, Berkeley is equidistant from Milpitas (where Andy lives) as San Francisco, but because of Gay Pride Weekend, Andy did not want to be anywhere near The City. We split a bottle of wine for dinner, but I was totally wined out and didn't even enjoy it. The carbonara was amazing, though, but that's because they probably augmented it by adding more cream than usual. Yes, that's what we'll do to make a carbonara taste better: we'll make it even less healthy! There, Mark and Ming proceeded to tell us the trials and tribulations of condo life in Oakland, including a recent fire that raged through their building that left their unit minimally damaged. Mark, Andy, and Bobby are all in the video business, leaving me with my tea (as a pre-emptive anti-hangover strike).

Monday morning, Ann presented me with a pair of shoes (more on this later), four commemorative wine glasses from Kenwood, and a blender. I took the shoes, my bottle of white port, and left on a jet plane to New England.