Merlot Bails Out Chester, While Crossing Emily

Greetings Viognier (Vee-O-nay) and Kind readers,

Upon rising, and after my morning constitution, my faithful attendant, Emily (who we shall come back to) reminded me that Chester was still "cooling his heals in the can", if you will. And so, It was incumbent upon me to find him appropriate representation, and to raise the funds for his release, as I would hope he would do for me. That is the measure of a man, kind readers; The Golden Rule, if you will. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. It is perhaps nothing new to the more seasoned readers among us, but how many choose to live these simple words, in practice, day in and day out with the consistency of a New York State boxed wine? There's the rub, isn't it?

Which brinds us to our theme for this day: Treat other people with the concern and kindness you would like them to show toward you. A fitting theme on this day perhaps, a day like any other, save the trip to the Bernard B. Kerik Complex (a/k/a, "the Tombs") to bail out Chester, for striking two of New York's finest, and for verbal abuse that bordered upon a hate crime, as it was explained to me.

Apparently, one of the officers was of Peruvian decent, which is not itself an amazing fact, but which took a different light, and us all by surprise when Chester began blurting, for lack of a better word. Chester shouted at the policemen that he thought him a "dirty Spaniard, with stinking Arab ways" of all things, which the police officer of Peruvian origin seemed to take with a grain of salt, if that. Now, this is something very odd, as it came from Chester, a man who almost single handedly has kept more than a few Manhattan Tapas Bar in business over the last 30 years, not only with his patronage, but also with his extraordinary critical reviews of Tapas Bars, Cuban Chinese take out spots, and Mexican Restaurant, for which he is known. Chester's review are said to have put New York's now defunct, Bay Yammo Restaurant in business. Chester's love of all things Latin, until this most bias utterance, was widely known. The officer, who was in a position to prosecute Chester for his loose way with words, as his RV was in the process of being towed from the basin, turned out to be an understanding bloke, who realized that Chester was approaching three sheets to the wind, when he began to defend his wheeled home from the deck of our watercraft.

And so, the charge was reduced and Chester was made free, on a rather modest bail of $15,000 dollars, after the DA made the case that he was in fact a flight risk, given his living situation, and in spite of the high price of fuel, which has kept Chester grounded, if you will, within the confines of Manhattan for now. Chester found no friend in the judge, who as Hispanic, took the opportunity to wax philosophical, not only about Chester's bias remarks (at one point calling him a "'reflexive' bigot who only shows signs when his not-so-funny bone is tapped"), but also about Chester's public drunkenness, "even in places where drunkenness may be the norm, and an occupational hazard," as he put it, addressing the view, for good or ill, of the Boat Basin's as something of a docking point for "a ship of fools."

This, of course, raised laughter among the police officers, who are often called to the basin to quell fallout, not only from our boxed wine tastings, but for many other residents, who imbibe other spirits on a quite regular basis, including Mortimer Greenblatt, one of the world's foremost "brown water" consultants, if you will. Mortimer has consulted with many of the world's leading distilleries about their production of Whiskeys, and Bourbons, becoming quite rich, as it were, by taking payment in the form of shares of securities before Japanese buying concerns bought out many of the United Kingdom's leading producers of Scotch. Mort, as it turned out, provided the funds to bail out Chester, and was very accommodating toward our request for funds. When asked, late last night, as we drank from a rather sweat cask of boxed wine from a Long Island vineyard, Mort replied: "I'll buy, if you fly," which sealed the deal that brought me to New York's Tombs to fetch Chester, if you will. Mortimer, for his part requested "interest" in the form of Chester's labor, has he readies his rather large watercraft for winter.

All in all, a good deal from a kind friend in a position to help Chester through a rough spot, who will be facing assault and battery charges in the wake of his RV being towed, and his wife deserting him for or well-healed employer, the owner of a charted jet service for executives inside the beltway, where the air is so very thin. Chester for his part, is back taking in fresh air along the West Side Drive, fighting the storied, and powerful Hudson River Striped Bass, and the so called "Pumpkinskin" in turn.

Which brings us to the flip side of our golden coin, if you will: trechery in the home. This flip side involves our house keeper, Emily, a highly educated live in manager, without whom Merlot would unboubtedly be in very dire straights. Emily has shown a flair for treachery, which was nothing less than the most shocking revelation we've experienced this year. After returning from bailing out Chester, it was my turn, if you will. As I approached my watercraft, I was approached by a New York City Sanitation inspector, who was in the process of issuing us yet another ticket when he talk us to remain, while he called the police to place us under arrest.

Apparently, Emily took it as her duty to call the Sanitation department, urging them to teach "Merlot and his little operation a lesson" (as the inspector disclosed to us upon his third draw from a dry boxed blend we opened in order to in turn make him more open). She said it was just desserts for not making arrangements to clean up after our boxed wine tasting events in a more timely, and organized manner. Emily, as it turns out, was brought up by in a Military family on the Island of Guam, in Panama, Puerto Rico, and the Gulf, where here father was stationed throughout his long Naval career. She has no tolerance for our "sloppy ways" as she puts it, and the empty box wine casks had been a point of contention between us since the day of her hire, more than 10 years ago. Well, today, things have come to a head, when she made efforts to have me arrested for not keeping the basin more tidy. It appears, Emily had had enough of breaking down boxes, making them ready the carting service.

Her method of communication is a bit ham-fisted for a woman with a PhD in Ethnographic Anthropology from one of the world's leading university systems; and we told her as much. Dr. Emily replied to the effect that she had to take drastic measures to keep this "floating pig pen in order", and rather than, as she put it, "continuing to talk 'til blue in the face to a man with corks in his ears who sits back like a Cambodian hog farmer", Emily decided to take swift action, doing that would not be ignored or dismissed like the wish list of an unwanted step child. Emily's language was peppered with words that we would never have dreamed she knew, and we told her this too. It was her yelling the most odd turn of phrase that she "couldn't give a fat baby's ass" whether I liked what she did in calling the authorities or not that made me sit up and take note of both her hidden reserve of spicy language, and her fiery temper. Apparently, she's absorbed more than good times and laughter from our friends who visit from The Riverside Park, as was evidenced by her colorful, if debased speech.

Luckily, we were able to keep the wolf from the door, as it were, with a combination of negotiation and an open invitation to our upcoming tastings to the inspector, a most reasonable man, who I count as a friend, much to Emily's chagrin. However, Dr. Emily's action ended up in a final and a last warning form the Sanitation department to clean up after our wine tastings, or else. We are well aware of the nature of the problem, and shall make every effort to conduct our business at the basin in a more neighborly fashion, shall we say, which places us into the labor market for a gentleman to maintain our cleanups twice per week for a reasonable wage. We have already been approached by several of our friends from the park who say they can use the work, and would be happy to dispose of the extraordinary amount of cardboard that we produce with our nightly boxed wine tastings at the Boat Basin. I believe there will be fewer capacity constraints going forward as we host upcoming holiday boxed wine tastings, both in the amount of trash to pile up on our libacious wake, and also a reduction in the amount of contention Merlot feels in a home that includes so feisty a first mate in Dr. Emily, if you will.