A first sip....

The first time I had wine I wasn’t particularly impressed. From then on, I would have a glass here or there but it was nothing I craved. Drinking more than a single glass of wine was not something I did.

Then, around the time I turned twenty, I had a glass of wine that changed my life it was a Cabernet and it was amazing.

For the first time in my life I wanted a second glass.

All this time I thought that I wasn’t a wine person, but it turned out I had just been drinking sub-par wines. It was then that I began to explore the types of wine that suited my palate.

In the same way that I went so long drinking a single glass of wine and never wanting more, I am the queen of first dates. I go on first dates all the time but when a guy calls for a second, I’m not interested.

Looking back, I suppose I could have forced second glasses of wine, but wine is meant to be enjoyed not suffered though so… wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?

I recently encountered the dating equivalent to my Catalyst Cabernet. I went on a date with a perfectly aged, full bodied, man with nutty overtones and he suited my palate perfectly.

Even after the first sip of wine there is always more to be discovered; an infusion that you didn’t notice before or combinations of food that bring out flavors you didn’t know were there.

All I can say is that the taste of my first date is still lingering and I can’t stop thinking of having second glass.

Get your kicks

In the city, when the stores close for the day metal grates are brought down over the glass windows for security. Today as I was leaving the gym, I noticed three boys huddled up against one of these metal barriers yelling and kicking at something.

I almost reached for my cell phone, assuming a helpless kid was being jumped, but before I could two of the boys jumped back and I saw that no one was there. One boy was left still kicking violently, he jumped back and began to stomp when I realized... they were killing a rat.

Time Stamp

As I walked along 125th street today I made my way through the vendors, shoppers, native new yorkers and tourists that flock to Harlem daily. I'm not sure which category the long haired girl with pale skin fell into, but as she passed through the crowd she flipped her hair over her shoulder she said,

"I wish I could be black for an hour"

An older black woman whipped her head around and her eyes met mine, "Did you hear what she just said? Did you hear what she just said?" she asked incredulously"

While the woman seemed offened at the statement, I remained perplexed by the idea of being black for "an hour". Could a person experience what its really like to be a different race, gender, sexual orientation or class in one hour?

Maybe that's why she put a time stamp on it.