Nomaville: Drowning in a Fishbowl of Love

In the early days of being a writer loosed in the Wine Country (which is to say nine months ago), I would often tell tasting-room attendants that I had a new-ish palate. Some would reply, “Funny, you don’t look new-ish,” and make a nod to the reporter’s notebook I had conspicuously placed on the counter.…