Gin before Noon

Forty thousand-some Tweets in, I still misunderestimate how easy it is to be misconstrued in 140 characters, especially when I refuse to dignify a garbage story with a link in this grand age of trolling for clickbait. The other Saturday I noted that a certain columnist had built an entire column out of wine gouging in a certain restaurant without noting that the most prominent review of said restaurant had taken points off for exactly that greedy practice. Not only that, she threw in a gratuitous insult to restaurant reviewers: They don’t understand wine and its rarefied world. The pushback was fascinating: Quote marks be damned, I was doing the insulting. If I were dead today, my head would be exploding at my desk.

Heads up, juice down

I was a bit embarrassed to have a copy of a famously “salmon-colored” publication lying among the morning papers on my kitchen counter the other Wednesday when an editor came by for a “shoot.” Not sure she believed me when I insisted: “They send it to me for free.” And that’s all the hint I’ll give on this burning question after a particularly desperate-looking piece on local farmers: What if you published a steaming pile of trollbait and nobody read?