Our Weekly Mad Men Column: Liz & LJ on "Field Trip"

BY LAURA JANE & LIZ

LJ: Every Mad Men Monday morning I wake up feeling like my heart is going to explode with excitement. I am very hyped to watch the new episode of Mad Men. I sync up a pirated episode a nerd who is a stranger has uploaded to my favorite ugly trashy website, "Project Free TV," and let it load while I drink coffee and eat toast. After I finish my toast, it's time for me to start pestering my boyfriend, who sleeps like he's dead. Me whining "Wake up and come watch Mad Men with meeeeeee," is a hallmark of the Mad Men Monday morning ritual. He rarely bites. Last week, I even went so far as to make him a cup of coffee and waggle it under his nose, which worked. But this week he wised up. "Don't you have some exercising to do?" he asked. Sadly I admitted that I did. So then I had to suffer through forty minutes of exercise before it was time for Mad Men. That was a rough one. 

First things first- I think it's really cool how Dawn and Don have the same name. When I was a kid it was used to bug me a lot how characters in books and movies never had the same name, even though that's totally something that happens in real life. It's wouldn't even be confusing for the viewer/reader, because we all know that there is a perfect solution to two people in one situation having the same name: their last initials get involved. America's Next Top Model knows this. On ANTM Cycle 20, which I am very familiar with, as I recently binge-watched the entire cycle in 4 days, there were two guys named Chris: Chris H, who was the WORST, and Chris some other last initial that I forget now, because he was voted off very early into the season. Anyway, I am very happy to see that Dawn C is holding shit down as the new Joan H, and was even happier to discover that Megan C is doing crappily in L.A. I am not a Megan fan; in fact, I hate Megan. I am sure Jessica Pare is a very nice lady but I wish she would never act in any movie or TV show ever again. Megan's chill agent is definitely my fav new character of Season 7 so far (Take that, Roger Sterling's hippie girlfriend), and my fav thing that's happened is a tie between the time he said "You're my favorite couple," to Megan and Don D after knowing Don for five seconds and the time when Ted Chaough put a slice of dry toast into his mouth and walked away.

I liked Betty a lot this episode. I'm pretty obsessed with trying to piece together the crux of Betty's obviously disordered relationship with food. I feel like there might of been bulimia implications in her willingness to share the coffee streusel cake with Francine (Always good to see what's going on with Francine, by the way. Sup Francine), and I thought there was a really interesting metaphor in how for lunch she drank fresh cow's milk out of a bucket but was deprived of the sandwich she packed herself- the sandwich was a prop in the phony illusion she was trying to create, but the cow's milk was pure. She didn't get to have the sandwich because the lie-life was never realized. It gaped in the middle and fell apart. She got to have what she got to have. She got to drink warm cow's milk out of a bucket. 

I've had a really weird work month in April. At first I was just miserable being assistant manager and working all these crazy doubles and then I had a cool Clash-related revelation and stepped down from any sort of managerial position at my restaurant. Now I'm a part-time server! The role I was born to play. Plus I took a sabbatical (not really a sabbatical) from the location of my restaurant I've been working at since Octobes to cover for the assistant manager at my OLD location (where I worked from August of 2012 until Octobes), who went to Mexico for Easter (as one does). And then I came back for my first work weekend as a part-time server and felt tiny and weird and alone. I related to Don Draper a lot throughout his bummer sitting at a table all day SC&P day. It sucks to feel like a weird loser and watch your old job you were good at be usurped by an even weirder loser who kind of sucks at it. I'm noticing that Don Draper's looking a little dumpier than usual this season. His face looks like a fatter, wider square. Is it because Don Draper's character is in a bad place and they're making him look dumpier, or is it just because Jon Hamm is aging? Anyway, stoked to see Don D back at Sterling Coops. SC&P, his only true fam. 

In conclusion: what the heck is up with Kenny Cosgrove's poor eye? Does he have no eye? Was his eyeball literally blasted out of his head? Or is it just damaged? Will he ever not wear an eyepatch again? Will he have a glass eye when he takes his eyepatch off? Please address this extremely pressing issue, Mad Men Season 7. Signed, Laura Jane. 

LIZ: This is my least favorite episode so far this season. Mostly I wanted to go back to the last episode and sit with Sally and Don in that diner for another hour, and talk more about the truth and being so many people. I also resent "Field Trip" for increasing my disappointment with Peggy Olson's lack of imagination in reacting to bullshit behavior, since disappointed-in-Peggy-Olson is an emotion with which I am intensely uncomfortable. But the use of "If 6 Was 9" in the "Field Trip" end credits was really hot, and it's Mad Men so of course it's automatically better than almost anything. Here are some moments I found to be of value:

-I liked when Don went to see Roger and asked him, "How do you sleep?" Basically the only other man who's ever asked that question of someone with whom he's engaged in a fractious yet charmed friendship is John Lennon, so I appreciated the reference.

        The other best Don moment is when he's alone in Megan's house and going through her liquor and picks up the Kahlúa bottle and makes that judgy-about-Kahlúa face: I just think it's cool that he's so over Megan and her lame lifestyle choices, he has to throw shade at a bottle of Kahlúa when there's not even anyone around to see it.

-I was also happy to see Francine again! What a hot ticket. And I love Betty's blue nightgown of faux-contemplation. Scrubbed-clean-of-makeup and sad-faced is a beautiful look for Betty - like, the one where her dad dies and it's nighttime and she's sitting at the kitchen table with Don and her gross brother, and she's eating a peach from the bag of peaches that was left in the car all day, and her hands are all peach-juice-messy and she really looks like she's been crying forever? Stunning.

-But the best "Field Trip" look belongs to Joan, in her rose-covered dress and big black boots. I'm tempted to call it "business-kinderwhore," but it's so much more than that. Also I'm sad that Joan and Don's sexy bromance appears to be done like dinner, but being careless about Joanie/Jaguar is maybe the one thing I'll hold against Don Draper forever.

-This episode really drove home how much I miss the old Bobby Draper, the pointy yet soulful-eyed one in between the current Bobby Draper and the one who says "We need to get you a new daddy" after Don talks about how his father's dead and loved ham. The new kid's too perfectly round-faced, and also kind of a hack, and this is definitely the least I've ever cared about someone wearing high-top Converse and a red baseball jacket and holding a baggie full of gumdrops. (Sorry, "Mason Vale Cotton"; I know I'm being superbitchy.) 

-I love Dawn. I love how she loves Don and is sort of under his thumb, but also totally takes care of her own shit. Also really cuted out by the porcelain cat statues on her desk, especially the one to the left by the pink flowers, who looks like it's saying hey:

The other "Field Trip" thing I'm going to complain about is how we finally got to see Betty, but then there was no Sally or Ted or Pete. I mean I know that casting budgets exist or whatever, but why can't we have Betty and Sally and Pete and Ted all in the same goddamn episode? And speaking of Pete and Ted, I really need to point out how, in episode two, during the telecon that made Pete wonder if he's dead, I deeply enjoyed how Ted's calmly fiddling with some small flat object I can't identify while Pete's being his usual beautiful apoplectic self. I just thought Ted Chaough looked really cool in that moment. I like it when men are caught up in their own little worlds.

Anyway, here's the Anthology version of "How Does Roger Sterling Sleep":

I Want David Klein to Illustrate My Life

BY LIZ

About a month ago I became aware of the existence of David Klein, who was an artist and illustrator who made a lot of weird and gorgeous advertisements in the 1960s. He's maybe best known for all these TWA posters, which I'm in love with. Apparently you can buy originals of some of the posters on Etsy for hundreds of dollars, like the L.A. one on the left here:

There's a stupid lack of David Klein info on the Internet, but I did learn he was an active member of the California Watercolor Society, which charms my socks off. David's bio says the California Watercolor Society "often chose to paint watercolors depicting scenes of everyday life in the cities and suburbs of California," and that makes me wish David were still with us now so that he could illustrate everywhere I love in California, especially my neighborhood and Topanga Canyon and the weirdest parts of the Valley (Lankershim Boulevard in particular, where I took all of these groovy pictures).

But David Klein died in 2005. He came from Texas, and he was in the army and fought in World War II. And at first my whole point in posting this post was so I could do this:

#GEORGE

...but then I looked at more of David's work and saw that he also made posters for movies and foods and books and everything. I haven't found any David Klein music art, but I'd really love for him to make art for all these people/albums/songs/whatever:

-Outkast
-The Beatles, especially Help!-era Beatles
-Ex Hex
-The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society
-Courtney Barnett
-the first two Shins records
-that Strokes song about Hawaii
-mid-career Sonic Youth, especially Goo
-Ram by Paul & Linda McCartney
-late-era Pavement
-The Hollies oh god I love the Hollies, I love Evolution by the Hollies so much right now

I think my basic criteria for music being David Klein-worthy are (1) a fluency in the nuance of thoughtful/subversive whimsy and (2) an undercurrent of scrappiness, melancholy, and serious feminine energy to keep said whimsy from unraveling into precious bullshit.

Thing of the Week: Draught Negronis, Beaches, Iceland

LJ'S THING OF THE WEEK: Draught Negronis at Red Sauce

A new restaurant named Red Sauce opened up in my neighbourhood, and I am in love with it. I am going to marry it, and change my name to Laura Jane Red Sauce. I have eaten at Red Sauce three times in the past three weeks, and I feel like at this point I'll probably have a nervous breakdown if I ever go a week without eating there again. It's so chill and easy and cutesy and skeezy. It reminds me of a place where characters in one of Liz Barker's stories would go. 

The first time I went to Red Sauce was with Carly on the night of a blizzard- we ate spicy broccoli rabe, these perfect sassy charred little peppers that you dip into a thin, buttery white sauce, and Clams Casino, which was a pretty special experience. I wonder how many times Dean Martin ate Clams Casino in his life. Probably once a week. We also had the garlic knots, which are psychotic, and I ate a half muffuletta sandwich. I didn't retain the experience of eating my half muffuletta because I was very drunk on Negronis at that point. Obviously the shining star of Red Sauce's existence is that they have NEGRONIS ON DRAUGHT, a concept so strikingly tailored to how I need life to be that I am genuinely surprised it's a real live beverage and not just a line from a blog post I'd write about what life would be like in PERFECT HEAVEN. And they truly are heavenly, and six dollars, and are problematically, or maybe non-problematically, boozy. Most importantly, they are served in a chilled ceramic cup. People really underestimate the extent to which a chilled vessel can elevate the hopefully-alcoholic beverage it contains. 

The second time I ate Red Sauce was with Laura F and Teri. We shared two orders of the garlic knots, which I regretted the next day when I felt like I was pregnant with a twenty-pound lump of garlicky bread baby. No disrespect to the garlic knots, though. Just don't eat two orders in addition to eating two desserts and like seventy appetizers and a Knuckle Sandwich, which is a breaded patty thing made out of braised pork trotters that you eat on a roll with (hey hey!) red sauce and more of the spicy rabe, which is such a badass vegetable. I wish I could show you pictures of all the delicious food I'm describing, but my old iPhone Dan Humphrey died of natural causes last Tuesday and I never backed up my iPhone so now they are all lost to time. RIP Dan Humphrey.

Last night I went out on a date to Red Sauce with myself. It was one of the best "dining alone in a restaurant" experiences I've ever had. The servers weren't up my butt and really seemed to respect the fact that I just wanted to chill out and read my book and not be sold to. The mini-Caesar was out of this world. It was aggressively garlicky and the croutons had a sort of melt-in-your-mouth consistency to them that I have never experienced in a crouton before, but now will feel the absence of in every subsequent crouton I eat. I had a non-drunk half-muffuletta and I was into it. I don't have much to say about it. It's just a really solid and no-bullshit piece of food. My one regret is that I only drank one Negroni. I want to exclusively drink them (AND WHITE WINE. DON'T WORRY, WHITE WINE! I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU! LOVE YOU!!!) forever. I feel like my love for Campari really means something about me. One of my dreams in my life is to find out some person I hate doesn't like Campari, look them in the eye and say, "I don't respect that." 

LIZ'S THING OF THE WEEK: Teens on Beaches, Sadness on Beaches, Wine on Beaches

i. Last weekend I found a copy of Jones Beach by Joseph Szabo for seven bucks and I bought it. Even if you don't think you know Joseph Szabo you probably do; he took the photo on the cover of the perfect album Green Mind by Dinosaur Jr., for instance, and he took this groovy picture that everyone always posts on Tumblr. I don't love Jones Beach and I wish it was Teenage instead, but whatever, it's fine, it's great. Above is my favorite Jones Beach photograph, mostly because the kids look like extras from my book. They're smoking Larks. They're going to eat supper at Red Sauce tonight.

ii. Like many people who exist in my immediate Internet universe, I'm pretty crazy about that new War on Drugs record. "War on Drugs makes me feel all the feelings Kurt Vile fails to make me feel" is something I keep thinking and feeling kind of bad about, although I'm sure Kurt Vile's life's all right without me. I just never can really find myself in a Kurt Vile song, but with War on Drugs it's like boom! There I am. There we are. To me Lost in the Dream sounds like being sad on a winter beach - but a perfect sad, the sort of sad where you're entirely sure no one else in the history of everything has experienced this particular tone or dimension of sadness before. It sounds like being stoked on your own sadness. Also I love how he's always going "Whoo!" It's the deepest whoo in all the world.

iii. I got my taxes done on Wednesday. My accountant's office is by the beach in Santa Monica, but it used to be in the Valley, in Encino. On Wednesday I was like, "You like it better here?" and David goes, "YES. Oh my god. I told myself, 'Dude, you're not allowed to complain anything ever from now on.' I smile all the time." It was so cute. David rocks. After our sesh I went down to the pier and got a plastic cup of wine at the fried-seafood place and gazed out upon the sea and thought how sad it is that no one ever pays writers gabillions of dollars for anything, and then I got over it and walked around listening to War on Drugs and to Ex Hex. When I went back to my car someone had parked psychotically close to the driver's side door, and I left them a note saying they should listen to Big Star. Then I went to Wild Flour and got a piece of pepperoni pizza for supper, and then I drove back to the east side of Los Angeles and impulse-stopped at Sweet Rose Creamery on the way. They had oro blanco ice cream and I didn't know what oro blanco meant but I liked the name so I got it; turns out oro blanco is "a cross between an acidless pomelo and a white grapefruit." The oro blanco was candied and the ice cream had nice soft hunks of ginger cookie hidden inside, and I had them pour some hot butterscotch sauce all over it cuz what the hell: tax day is the perfect day to eat like a six-year-old at her own birthday party. Pizza and ice cream for everyone.

JEN'S THING OF THE WEEK: Going to Iceland

I'm going to Iceland tomorrow.

Doing Exercise Videos In My Kitchen

BY LAURA JANE/ ILLUSTRATION BY JEN

I pushed my kitchen table up against the wall so that its longer edge no longer juts out and cuts into the largest fat rectangle of open empty space my little home has to offer. Now when you walk into the room the first thing you notice is a stack of books on the table instead of just the table. It’s: a book about the Beatles, a book about the Rolling Stones, Bart Simpsons’s Guide To Life, three books about astrology, Learning the Tarot, and a Spice Girls book called Spice. That stack of books has a lot of chutzpah.

        There is one chair slotted into each short edge of the table. One has an olive green cushion printed with a pattern of jumping white rabbits offset by little flowers and flying petals tied to the back of it. I never sit on that chair. There is a pile of paper on that chair.

        I sit on one of the two chairs tucked into the table’s longer edge, my back to my apartment’s front door. Right now I’m sitting like I’m stretching, my left foot tucked under my right thigh, my right leg splayed straight out across the chair next to me, my first four toes hooked under the edge of the table, my sad little gerbil of a pinky toe, my darling runt toe, hanging loose. I’m kind of pulsing it now that I’m thinking of it. You could put the whole of your body’s entire energy into that one tiny toe if you wanted to. Your body can do almost anything you want it to.

Thing of the Week: LJ's Boyfriend's Birthday, Meeting Kristin Hersh, Seeing Mary Timony

LJ'S THING OF THE WEEK: My Boyfriend's Birthday (& Snoopy)

My boyfriend's birthday was on Tuesday. He spent his birthday and the two days preceding it at his parents' house up north. At first I didn't mind terribly that he was away; I did exercise videos involving burpees in my kitchen with no fear of another human being seeing me do a burpee, and watched the terrible romantic comedy Celeste and Jesse Forever on Netflix. It was extremely bad, but I loved it anyway. I love every romantic comedy, even the one where Reese Witherspoon returns home to the deep South and falls for a straight-shootin' sparkly-toothed blond man, reflects upon her fast-paced big city life and crappy relationship with dead-inside Patrick Dempsey whose mother, Candice Bergen, is the mayor and wonders "What is it all for?"- I literally think that movie is better than, like, every other movie that isn't a rom-com.  

On Monday morning Celeste and Jesse Forever ended and I went to work and came home from work and had nobody to talk about work to. I felt sad and alone and ate a sad little apple at my kitchen table and played Candy Crush on my phone until my self-discipline caved in upon itself and I spent money on Candy Crush. I bought myself a new set of lives and one of those chocolate truffles covered in multicolor sprinkles that eliminates an entire style of candy from the level. Soon after, I deleted Candy Crush, just as I always swore I would the moment I ever spent money on Candy Crush. It's crazy how short of an amount of time it takes for "absence makes the heart grow fonder" to kick in. 

After work on Tuesday I was so excited to see Mark on his birthday that I drank a margarita while closing up my restaurant. Well probably I just drank a margarita because margaritas are delicious and I love them, but used Mark's birthday as an obviously solid excuse to justify my disobedience. Then I went and met Mark at a bar by my house that has a picture of Bob Dylan's face graffitied on the building's facade. It's not really the best-case-scenario graffiti of Bob Dylan's face that I could imagine existing, but I try not to judge it too hard because really a shitty picture of Bob Dylan's face being painted onto the building you are drinking in is still preferable to no Bob Dylan's face being painted on the building at all. Which happens quite often.

At the bar I drank two bottles of Heineken. Mark and I were being very affectionate with each other, which is something I value a lot about our relationship. Mark and I make out in public, and we don't care that we make out in public. What's the big deal? I really like kissing my boyfriend- he's hot, and I'm in love with him. It's not 1875 or whatever. The Industrial Revolution is not going on outside our front doors. Why is this crazy world of ours so obsessed with their own obsession with loving gross surfbort Drunk in Love but simultaneously so prudishly offended by my boyfriend delicately kissing my forehead on public transit? That sentence is dedicated to the frumpy teen who sassed my boyfriend for kissing my forehead on public transit last November and probably loves Drunk In Love. (And while I'm here, please let it be known that I personally think Drunk in Love is silly and uncool. All my friends are so in love with Beyonce and it weirds me out; I always thought a really nice thing about being smart is how it prevents you from buying into mainstream culture. She's not actually our Queen.) 

I gave Mark this card and then nicknamed him "Kangaroo Man" for the rest of the night, because I think those little illustrations are probably kangaroos. We ran a whole lot of the way home from the bar because I'm really into fitness these days and it was cold. While he was at his parents', he found out from his mom what time he was born at (1 in the afternoon), so when we got back to my apartment we consulted my astrology book and discovered that his Rising Sign is Leo! Same as mine! Additionally, Mark is a Pisces with his his moon in Pisces. After reading about Leo Rising and learning that we're both very ostentatious and have nicely-shaped heads, I read him a bunch of information about being a Pisces. It all wrung very true, and we had a nice little mini-celebration of his Pisces-ness, and of Pisces-ness in general, which is definitely something worth celebrating. Pisceans are intricate like a crazy tapestry or sand underneath a microscope. They are complicated and don't care if you know they are complicated. My boyfriend is what people mean when they say "still waters run deep," the most selfless and giving human I've ever known, and really weirdly smart in an unexpected and unpredictable way. At the end of the night we were lying in bed being cutesy and in love and Mark asked me, "Since animals are nice things, do they get to have astrology too?" Awwwwwwwwwww! God I fucking love that guy. 

PS: I found that chill & gorgeous Snoopy-Pisces illo this morning after watching the preview for the new CGI Peanuts movie coming out next year, which is just like okay cool but Seriously?!? Can we maybe not make every single thing that ever happened into CGI? Like, could we maybe just keep Peanuts sacred? Peanuts?!?!? Just Peanuts, guys. That's all I ask. But anyway, after watching it I zoned into this weird head-world where I actually teared up a little bit because I am so endlessly charmed by how cute Snoopy is. And then I was like "What's Snoopy's Zodiac sign? Is Snoopy a Gemini?" I Googled it, but no dice. As it turns out, Snoopy is no Zodiac sign, at the same time as being all the Zodiac signs.

Sometimes he's a Capricorn, like Liz Barker: 

Sometimes he's a Scorpio, like Jen May:

 And sometimes he's a Cancer, like me!

LIZ'S THING OF THE WEEK: Meeting Kristin Hersh

This is actually Thing of Two Weeks Ago. On March 4th I flew home to Massachusetts so that I could see Throwing Muses (with special guest Tanya Donelly!) at the Sinclair in Cambridge. Tanya Donelly's always been one of my favorite songmakers, but my Throwing Muses obsession is mostly new. It didn't happen until last year; it came on fast and furious, and was intensified by my interviewing Kristin for Popdose. I read Rat Girl twice and the Purgatory/Paradise book twice and they each changed my life, a total of four times. For 2014 my new year's resolution was to stop jerking off, metaphysically speaking, and Kristin Hersh is absolutely my hero in that. In Kristin's hands I always know exactly what to take seriously and what not to take seriously, because hers is a world that's both magic and no-bullshit.

So yeah, the show. Tanya opened and played "Honeychain" and "Acrobat" and some Belly stuff ("Slow Dog"! "LOW RED MOON"), and toward the end of her set Bill from Buffalo Tom came out and sang a couple songs with her and it was gorgeous. And then the Muses happened and I don't want to write about it; all I can say is that resting my chin on an amp and drinking a borrowed beer and watching Kristin Hersh scream and play guitar is probably my natural habitat. Afterward I went up to Kristin to say hi - I was all, "Hiiiiiiiii...I interviewed you a while ago? It was Halloween? I live in L.A.? We talked about L.A.?", and then finally she remembered me and told me I wrote cool stuff, and then I died and asked her to sign my t-shirt like a 14-year-old. It was the best. I don't know how you get up in front of thousands of people and sing songs like you're ripping your own skin off, and then get off stage and just be totally nice and chill and lovely, but there you go. Kristin Hersh, guys.

Besides meeting Kristin, my fave part of the night was when Tanya came out during the Muses' set and they played a bunch of songs, including "Red Shoes" and also "Green." "Green" was entirely worth my flying across the country, all on its own: I would've flown around the world 10 zillion times just to have that. I took that picture up there of Kristin and Tanya playing "Green" and Tanya really singing the hell out of it, but the whole thing was definitely a dream.

JEN'S THING OF THE WEEK: Seeing Mary

Last night I saw Mary Timony's new band Ex Hex. They were so fun. Mary shreds. She's the best. And, you guys, they covered a Slant 6 song!!

Watching Mary Timony Eat All Different Foods in the Video for "Hot and Cold" by Ex Hex is Total Heaven

BY LIZ

Mary Timony's new-ish band Ex Hex just premiered the video for their song "Hot and Cold" and it's everything I could ever want from a rock video: Mary Timony, cake, cookies, pizza, Ian Svenonius being handsome/boring, a jello mold that looks like a sea monster, a lion, pineapples, cherries, flowers. The basic premise is Mary's out on a date with Ian and it's not going so swell (he's the "cold" in this equation), but then the other Ex Hex babes show up and save Mary and suddenly it's a party. Here's a bunch of gorgeous screenshots; for additional heavy thoughts on loving Mary Timony you should read my book I Wanna Be Your Man, from our new little series of Beatles zines. There's cake in that too.

Here's Mary at the start of the video, with her rad orange nails and martini. What do you think's in the goblets? I want it to be Coke. I want Timony to be a weird little fourth-grader drinking soda from her parents' wine glasses and pretending to be grown-up and sophisticated. "Fourth-grade Mary Timony" is something to think about.

And here's Ian and his glorious hair and scowl. Right now I've got a crush on a guy with serious Ian Svenonius vibes; it's working out relatively well.

Aforementioned sea-monster-ish jello mold. I don't understand what it's made of, but I appreciate that there appear to be green pimento-stuffed olives suspended inside. That's so gross/inspired.

And the beautiful cakes. Candy on top of cake is one of the best looks.

What is she eating? Where'd she get that flower crown? I mostly don't believe in flower crowns, but I fully support Mary in her flower-crown-wearing here.

Mary's shy dancing. It's funny her posture's so bad cuz MARY TIMONY IS NO SLOUCH

I Want To Live In A Wine Cellar

BY LJ

I am moving to England in the summertime. In England, I am going to do a lot of things, and a very important one of them is: become a “chill sommelier.” A chill sommelier is basically the same as a regular sommelier, only the chill sommelier is not an asshole. For the past ten years, since the very day I first saw Sideways, my #1 goal in life has been to make sure I am the exact human opposite of Paul Giamatti's character, AKA the worst grossest human being ever to have fake-existed, whose gross name, it turns out, is "Miles." Of course his name is Miles. 

Unfortunately, now that I am becoming a sommelier, it is no longer possible for me to be "Miles"'s exact human opposite. We'll just have too much in common, wine-wise, though I don't think Miles was even a sommelier. I think he was just a (barf) "wine enthusiast." But I can still strive to be the least Miles-y sommelier there ever was. The least douchey dickbag sommelier with a chill fun-loving spirit this world has ever known. I'm even going to make business cards, or get somebody else to make me some, that literally say “LAURA JANE FAULDS: Chill Sommelier.” And then people who want a chill sommelier will know to hire me and not some uppity uptight old-timey sommelier who looks like the candelabra from Beauty and the Beast. I mean can you even begin to imagine how many sommeliers there are out there who aren’t chill? Like, all the seventy year old man sommeliers in Paris who wear waistcoats? Or any French city? That’s where I come in. The sommeliers need me, to lighten up their rep. 

The other day, I bought my boyfriend some really shitty wine. Obviously I wasn’t intending for it to be shitty. It just was. I’m not a sommelier yet. We were watching the penultimate episode of Breaking Bad (ew- saying "penultimate" was so not chill sommelier of me. I bet douchey Milesy sommeliers say "penultimate" soooo much. Sorry about that) when Mark asked me, "Should I make myself a cup of coffee, or should I have another glass of wine?" I had another sip of the shitty wine to confirm whether or not it was worth drinking another glass of, and I said his shitty wine tasted like the shitty dregs of coffee you would find at the bottom of one of those clear brown-handled coffee pots, which has been sitting around for hours at a truckstop diner in the middle of, like, Kentucky, and there’s still smoking allowed in the diner because it’s, like, 1987, so it also tasted a bit like cigarette smoke. I guess my point was maybe that he shouldn't have coffee. Since I detected notes of coffee in the wine. There’s some romance in that!” I explained, earnestly. 

The moral of the story is that Mark had a cup of coffee and another glass of wine, and that the process leading up to his decision was a great example of my future chill sommelier style in its nascence. Imagine if you went to a restaurant and the descriptions of all the wines on the wine list were winding and verbose and heavy on the metaphor? And written in my insane narrative voice? You'd have to be either boring or an idiot to not be all the hell over that, so welcome to London wine culture circa 2017 starring Laura Jane Faulds as London’s great pioneer of the legendary "chill sommelier" movement.

I love white wine more than I love red wine. I want to get a tattoo that says WW>, which means "white wine over everything." I also want to open a white wine bar called WW> that only sells white wine and cute snacks such as beet salad or a clever little take on a peach cobbler. There have been two unforgettable moments in my life when taking my first sip of a glass of white wine did something insane and gorgeous to me, something that changed me forever, having felt so blissful and isolated inside of those tastes and those smells and even those chilled, physical glasses. I have always wished to devote my time on this planet to frivolity and ephemera. And so I have decided to center my professional life around chasing down more and more of those moments. I want to trap myself inside of those sips and I want to live in them forever. And I want to be drunk all the time. 

When I was a little kid I had an L-shaped desk that slotted into one corner of my bedroom. I liked to sit in the nook under the desk and peek out from behind my desk chair. I have always loved existing in nooks more than I've loved existing anywhere else, except maybe by the water. And wine cellars are the ultimate nooks: they are nooks that have wine in them! They are dark and dank and probably smell weird. They're like the grotto where Ariel keeps all her kooky treasures in The Little Mermaid (2 Disney refs in this guy; cool), except instead of dinglehoppers they have wine in them! 

Once I was lying in bed, and I was very stoned, and started reciting the Hare Krishna mantra to make myself fall asleep. I was high enough to feel connected to how powerful those words were. I thought about how many millions and billions of times those words had been recited been recited by human beings over the course of thousands and thousands of years. It occurred to me that perhaps every time those words were spoken, the actual physical words as blank, faceless objects, were imbued with extra power. And so to recite the Hare Krishna mantra in 2014 meant more than it did to recite the Hare Krishna mantra in 701 or 1865. And as I whispered those words over and over I started to feel like those words were not the words as I was saying them. They were every time they'd ever been spoken at once. I certainly didn't fall asleep right then. 

Wine makes me feel the same way. It is the ultimate nostalgia, the taste of the passage of time. There's a bottle of champagne that sank on a ship in 1907, they found it underwater, that today a person can buy. I know if I drank it I could taste the ocean. You can teach yourself to detect notes of lychee and oak and roses and currants but I know if I drank it I could taste terror and the ocean. I think if I worked hard enough, I could teach myself to taste a person's life.