Bum Wine

First day in three that I’ve been in the office. Unusual for me to be absent from the HQ that long. But in my new role as the new business department, I’m usually babbling on the phone most of the day. And I suppose I can do that from most anywhere. 

The days do get a bit lonely though. Kinda miss the office conversation. 

If you were to be a fly on the wall at Monaco Lange you’d hear a remarkable range of office chatter. Theology, celebrity gossip, politics, anatomy, technology, physics and, on the rare occasion, sports. And it’s only Jenn and I who talk sports, the rest have zero interest. 

We spent quite a few non-billable hours gawking at the de-evolution of Amy Winehouse, gaping at Madonna’s sinewy arms, waxing on about atheism vs. agnosticism vs. nihilism vs. whatever-kinda-ism, and investigating the finer points of bum wine. For a full week, I couldn’t get this inspired jingle outta my skull:

What’s the word? Thunderbird

How’s it sold? Good n cold. 

What’s the jive? Bird’s alive. 

What’s the price? Dolla twice. 

That’s poetry, man. If you go to bumwine.com, you can read a story about how Julio Gallo used to cruise down the skiddy sections of town shouting at bums “What’s the word?” Without thinking, they’d reply “Thunderbird.” Now that is marketing success, abeit a horrifying marketing success—and an exploitation of another human being. But I'm sure it made the shareholders happy.  

According to lore, Juilo made the wine specifically for drunks—cheap wine he could sell by the truckload. Something I wouldn’t have known about unless I walked into the office one day.