Wine? What?

On having fun in fascist times.

I took a break from writing this newsletter, and I didn’t announce it. I had no idea how long a break I needed—a week? Six months? I was experiencing a very specific kind of burnout, maybe one you’re feeling too. Something like: I was stunned into silence by the bombardment of human rights violations across the United States…and beyond. In that moment of freeze, something became abundantly clear: I needed to dance.

So, to the dancefloor I went. DJ sets, line dancing, salsa classes, you name it. Turns out, I needed to sing too. I joined a local beer choir and can now be found singing Irish sea shanties and pub tunes at breweries around town. Like my life depends on it.

How am I supposed to write about wine when a paramilitary organization made up of masked Call of Duty cosplayers is running unaccountably through my country, kidnapping and murdering people? And where is the outcry from the major players in my industry, whose product would be growing nowhere and served alongside no food were it not for migrant labor?

How does a bartender run the dishwasher in an increasingly alarming water crisis during the rise of AI, whose data centers are reliant on the consumption of up to 5 million gallons of water a day? If wine is a canary in the coal mine of the environmental crisis and our marketing execs are building decks on how to make Gen Z want to drink wine…where does that leave the very sensitive poets of this world?

Line dancing and singing sea shanties, as it turns out.