Latin for, 'Die, bottom-dwelling fish!'

I've never made a lot of New Year's resolutions. Mainly I think that they're a way of bargaining with your future self to endure hardship for gain, and when you don't stick to the resolution, you feel like you've been betrayed by your chronologically displayed self. Kind of like getting up in the morning to a sink full of dishes and shouting, 'I can't believe that jerk Tim didn't clean the kitchen last night!' Getting mad at yourself is weird--you're right there, aren't you? Only deeply disturbed people have conversations with those that aren't present . . .

But I have an easy resolution to keep, courtesy of an article I read in the New York Times, 'The Psychology of Putting Off What Can Be Enjoyed Now'. Among other things, it talks about how people living in an area rarely visit the sights or look at the scenery--that's me: right outside my window as I type this are the Golden Ears Mountains. 

I've climbed every peak--I just don't look at them. 

And how many times a day do I look at that? Once or twice a month if I'm honest with myself, and I haven't been to the Ears in 20 years, despite having been an avid Boy Scout in my youth. 

Another thing the Times article alludes to is how 'perfect' is the enemy of good. People hoard gift cards until they expire, waiting to make the prefect purchase. People never spend their travel miles, looking for the perfect deal, and they never get to do all these wonderful things they're hoping for.

Who's to blame? Human nature, partly: we expect that in our busy lives time will suddenly materialise in the future, allowing us to do all that fun stuff. Of course, time just gets tighter and tighter and we let things slide until our opportunity is passed. 

Also partly to blame is me. For nearly two decades I've been pleading with consumer winemakers to build cellars, to hold their wines as long as possible to get the maximum benefit out of them, to consume them slowly over patient years, all to have that 'perfect' wine experience.

The truth is, wine is ready for you to drink when you enjoy drinking it. One of my favourite authors, Terry Pratchett writes fantasy stories. In it, his wizards know precisely the date of their own passing. They live in grand fashion, borrow money, have a party, and drink the very last bottles of their finest cellar selection, right before they shuffle off the mortal coil. Since we don't live in Pratchett's stories, we had better be careful we don't miss the boat by waiting too long. 

You want fries with that? 

And there is no such thing as a perfect wine experience. They're all good (although some might be 'good' in the sense that they provide contrast that makes other wine experiences seem even better), even the times you drink young wine before it's time because you're happy, or excited, or just plain thirsty. The perfect analogy for this comes from one of my favourite movies--it's also quoted in the Times article: 

Remember the advice offered in the movie “Sideways” to Miles, who has been holding on to a ’61 Cheval Blanc so long that it is in danger of going bad. When Miles says he is waiting for a special occasion, his friend Maya puts matters in perspective:

“The day you open a ’61 Cheval Blanc, that’s the special occasion.”

I'll drink to that, and I'm putting my money where my wine cellar is, and I'm getting on board with 'Open That Bottle Night'. Championed by a couple of Wall Street Journal wine columnists, the idea is that the last Saturday in February should be a night when you open that special bottle you've been holding on to.

Wine is meant to be consumed, enjoyed, shared--to be drank, not hoarded forever. If you've got a secret bottle squirrelled away, waiting for 'some day', join me on the 27th of February 2010 and we'll pull the corks and drink that special, secret bottle. I haven't decided which one yet, but it might well be one of the Vintage Ports I brought back from Portugal last year, that Burgundy I've been hoarding like a miser, or even the Sauternes that calls to me in my sleep . . . 

Whichever one it is, to paraphrase Orson Welles: 'Let's drink our wine, before there's no time'.