Why am I here?

I don't believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive.

Joseph Campbell

That particular question has driven me to write, travel, read, and think since I was old enough to remember doing any of those things. It is now once again the question that is ringing most loudly in the storm of my thoughts. Why am I here? Why am I in Colorado? Why do I want to write? It seems with writing, it is not about want, but some inner drive to create, to see things manifest from the immaterial of my memories and the images that come from absolutely left field in my head. I have done this kind of creation with directing and acting in the theater, firework shows, stand-up comedy, and of course storytelling both written and oral. I love an audience! I am pretty sure I am better at anything I do well with an audience.

Give me a nice meal to cook for 2 and it can be solid and quite good. Give me 4 dinner guests and that dinner will sing with compounding vigor. I hate being part of a crowd, but I love to be in front of one. I am not waiting in line to see, do, or eat anything unless the line is short and moving with alacrity; however, I would happily sit patiently while people wait in line to see me put on a show. I need an audience and I feel more fully myself when I have one.

Well Michael, how does writing fulfill this need of yours, you ask? You see, for me this blog is spiritual, my connection with God and the hero path the universe has shown me. Writing feels the same as designing the soundtrack for a fireworks show. The writing is the groundwork for a greater production of Michael David Housewright while the soundtrack to a pyro show is the melody and the explosions are the harmonies. If I write something interesting and people enjoy it, they will want more of it and therefore, more of me.

Travel, dining out, cooking, and encounters with crazies while working in a liquor store are all ammunition for the assault of the Michael show on the planet. I want to go about this attack through writing this blog, screenplays, and books. I want to do one man shows in theaters and readings on NPR like Sedaris. At the end of the day it is much like I told my technical director in college. "I do not do art for art's sake", I want to entertain, I want to make people laugh, cry, cringe, and crow. I am not on the fast track to deliver some literary masterpiece. I honestly just like to hear myself talk and enjoy the company of others who find my voice unique and/or irritating enough to curiously enjoy. I am not a train wreck, but I get the appeal. I am like Larry David in a redneck gentile costume. I call it like I see it and my mouth has gotten me in more trouble than I can remember so why not let it go even further and see if there is an audience for my humor and candor rather than fighting against my tendencies and coming across like a vacillating pussy.

The first group that challenges me are bloggers. I have been derided that I write too lengthy posts and post too infrequently to be a blogger. I tend to agree with this assessment, I am not sure I am a blogger as much as a  guy who tells stories on a website and likes to take pictures of things. Most successful bloggers I find are semi-journalists or even professional journalists who enjoy the creative license a blog gives them to report the news in a manner that suits their individual bent. I don't really have news or recipes, or any formulas for what I want to write, I just want people to be entertained. I am also aware that my writing and my blog are not going to have a mass appeal. Great, because in my experience anything with mass appeal on a grand scale I tend to find rather milquetoast and limp. I come at you with cazzo duro and if I need literary Viagra to keep it that way, then I will lean on Hemingway and Krakauer for my emotional chops, concision, and fact-finding. When it comes to honesty I want to be the Slim Shady of forthright. I am not going to publish every 3rd day on some schedule, because my thoughts and impetus to write do not function on a timeline. I write when I want, what I want, and how it sounds best to me on a given day. I write because it is the closest thing to a daily audience I can muster.

I am also challenged heavily by my own sense of perfection. I read this morning that Katie Parla, one of my favorite food writers on earth sometimes spends 6 hours on 250 word blogs. You see, I get this, I share in this kind of lunacy because at the end of the day I want to first and foremost impress myself, and when you've drunk Vogue Musigny it is never that easy to go back to Beaujolais (at least not in the same meal). Once something has been good, the internal pressure to keep it there overrides all sense of time and space. I can imagine Krakauer sitting there in anguish over whether to use pejorative or deprecatory, and I know that anguish. The more I read, the more I learn, the more damned difficult it is to choose the next word out of my keyboard.

This is what happened with wine. Some of you know that in 2001 I started down the path for MW. It took me less than 2 years of study, tasting, and meeting MWs to realize the deeper I went into it, the more myopic my focus would become and the less of me I would indeed become. I don't need to know at a moment's notice the premier cru vineyards of Chablis or the latest DOCGs in Italy. I discovered what I loved about wine was the wine itself, the place where it comes from, and the people who make it, drink it, cook around it, and those happier because wine exists. I am in no way denigrating those who pursue mastery, I just knew that mastery of wine in all its subjectivity would leave me  painfully deficient in a dozen other areas of life I would enjoy knowing better. Now, I am certain others are capable of much more than just an MW or MS while in their pursuits; not me though. I know the things about wine that I love, and I retain the details that allow me to be acceptably well-versed in the subject for myself and my individual pursuits. If I had stayed with wine, I would be a prisoner to my own perfectionist tendencies and likely would have grown to hate the industry.

I have a very close friend who has tasted and enjoyed more great wine than anyone I know at our age. When my buddy is faced with drinking pedestrian bottles of wine, no matter how tasty they might be to the standard 2-3 bottle a week consumer, his face is wrought with frustration that suggests he simply cannot even enjoy this perfectly charming, if innocuous bottle of  wine because of his elevated standards. Is it not true with all things? If you have great sex with someone and then they die, or leave, or decide to change sexual orientation and the next person you are making the beast with 2 backs with is not exactly their equal, are you happy? What if you have a great job and all is great then the company is indicted by the feds and the CEO gets a 10-15 year set of in-shower bent-over rows as the company and your job are liquidated? Is your next job "selling real-estate" for your uncle at C 21 going to get you jacked when your last job had a gym, a Starbucks, and a smoking hot secretary that smelled like happiness? It is our own standards that create expectation and breed misery.

I had to get out of wine because I was miserable. I remember one time sitting and tasting wines that some poor California farmer toiled to make and listening to a colleague tell the supply rep that the farmer should pull up his vines and plant lettuce because grapes should not be grown there. This is the kind of shit said in tastings all the time by dilettante buyers and inexperienced sales people in wine shops around the country.  While travel-weary supply reps  fight for that last second placements to earn a 6 day canned trip to Burgundy. On this "trip of a lifetime" they have the pleasure of tasting 150 green wines a day while listening to some jaded French importer who cheats on his wife with the fat girls on the trip wax on about terrior.  I was right there in the mix as the "quality" whore more than happy to deride some poor sap or laud some over-lauded esoteric masterpiece. I thought I was skilled and supremely confident my wine selections made me and my place of employment superior in some way.

However, I came to realize no matter how good I thought I was, I actually had little choice in the path my programs took. Oh, I hear  buyers around the country right now screaming that I am wrong; "I do my research and my list is dictated by me." Come travel with me a bit my friends and in each American city you will see on the shelves and on the restaurant lists the work of the distributors' salespeople of the year.  Cities are sheep led to the capitalist slaughter and for every bottle of Ribolla Gialla on a shelf or on a wine list there are 25-30 different labels of Malbec from Argentina. Wine buyers are given the perception of control and power by their bosses to assuage the mental and physical damage  of 60+ hour weeks. I once had a boss from the financial sector who offered me a wine job at a disgustingly low wage and when I asked him about the dollar figure and why so low, he simply said, "I don't know, you wine people just seem willing to work for so much less than other people." That has stayed with me since 2004, along with many other interesting assertions he made about the character of wine people (most of it absolute rubbish). In essence, the interplay between buyers,clients, distributors, and business owners is a complex dance that I like to call the "Stockholm Waltz". If you want to be a buyer with creative license (at least a modicum of creativity) you must own the business. Even owner/buyers are faced with the undeniable truth that every buyer in every city in America is subject to trends, fads, and their own inner circle of local wine pros who want to be like other wine pros in other cities which are perceived to be on the cutting edge, more sophisticated, or simply "better".

For some, this life is LIFE, for me, it was just another carefully disguised rat-race of whose whos and who will be or who won't be. I am here now in Colorado because of opportunity and luck. The opportunity my wife has to travel as a specialized and talented RN and the luck that I had meeting her and that she found me interesting enough to bring along with her on this life ride. I am also lucky that I spent only 15 years in the wine, food, and travel industries before realizing at only 40 years of age I could return to my youthful dreams of storytelling. Do not get me wrong wine people, I love many of you like family and the events I encountered while in the industry have given me great writing material for years to come. Wine has given me joy, travel, amazing meals, and more experience dealing with lies, liars, disingenuous customers, sycophantic suppliers, fair-weather friends, and tyrannical or inept owners  than one industry should ever offer in such a short career. While that may come off as sarcasm it is not meant to be, as I am truly grateful for my wine days because they have led me back to the most important question of all. Why am I here?

Finally, after 1 full year of deliberation, hard work, and emotional trauma, Juliet and I have left Houston, packed most of our belongings into storage, sold 1 car, sold our Italian travel company, and moved to Colorado. This is the beginning of a new life of travel, writing, photography, and fulfillment of a longtime dream for us. I have toiled (mostly happily) in food, wine, and travel for nearly 15 years and with all of the amazing adventures I have had my dreams of writing that were hatched as a 6 year-old child have remained constant. Juliet and I have taken a very creative and alternative career path to allow  me to focus on writing my first book. Through my blog I will reveal components of the life experiences from which I will draw to mold the overarching narrative of this first piece of "stylized" non-fiction.

Stay with me fellow Blissful Adventurers and prepare for the ride. No punches pulled and no subject too taboo for this writer who is bursting at the brain to share his views of the planet and observations of humanity that will hopefully provoke thought, amusement, confusion, and mostly laughter. The Adventure Begins!

Snoring in Europe (Part 2)

This is part 2 of my existential piece on snoring in Europe and how it enlightened me on Friendship, duty, and following my passion. Keep in mind I was living in Tuscany at the time this was written. Some fine work by my colleagues Alfonso Cevola and Jeremy Parzen have brought the subject of DOCG wines from the Montecucco appellation in Tuscany to light this week, and as I was embarking on a job in this area at the time I penned this, I thought it an appropriate piece for the week.

I had a nice long talk with an old friend last night and was awakened to the possibility that the challenges I am facing in this endeavor overseas mirror in many ways the challenges I have tried my best to avoid for much of my life. I can shirk responsibility at times and justify my actions with a belief that I am better at other things. It became apparent to me while traveling this weekend(2006) with the legendary Billy Jack that it is most certainly important to know one's strengths, and it is equally important not to become dependent upon them to the point of not choosing to investigate those things which one is not so adept at accomplishing. While the existential argument could be raised that focusing on what one does well only makes one better and more accomplished, I tend to believe it will atrophy one's ability to see the world in the contexts of new ideas and new methods of expression.

The big question begged in all of this is; what is the difference between what is real and what is perceived? By whom and how are we judged on personal growth? By personal growth I mean, not only how we view ourselves, but how are we viewed? Where is the fine line drawn between living "our own lives" and detaching from reality and the community of man? These are the questions I am struggling with as I prepare my next trip this weekend on the Tuscan Coast and the Maremma district where the Italian cowboys live and the amazing Chianina beef is raised for the ultimate Bistecca all Fiorentina (IKG steak 2.2 pounds, grilled and roasted bone down on the flames). I am open as always to dialogue and certainly willing to engage in a more thorough pondering of my whimsical sojourn into the world of metaphysics. In the meantime, sit back, crack open something cheap and ferociously alcoholic and enjoy debauchery with Brunello di Montalcino, Billy Jack, and myself!

I picked up Billy Jack at his airport hotel in  Florence on June 1. As always, Billy was curious and playful, already loaded up with coffee that I am not so certain he ever realized was so superior to anything in the USA (at that time), that coffee drinking at home is almost like choosing to drink varnish, and at temperatures that scrape every possible taste bud from the surface of the tongue upon impact.

Many American coffee drinkers (like my Dad's friends) drink over a pot of coffee a day and leave the fecal remnants in the freshly brushed restroom of some everyone knows your name establishment, or the back corner bathroom of a cooler than need be office building, in a place one is happy to pour over the sports editorials while making  multi-flushed mockeries of morning  assuring the job security of janitors round the country.

Coffee in Italy is so superior to coffee in the US that every Starbucks employee should be given at least a month in Italy to train with the real deal. I always hear that Starbucks really takes care of its employees. Well, they need to take care of their clients as the coffee movement (pun absolutely intended) is really starting to kick into high gear and soon Starbucks could go the way of KMART.

Billy was all jazzed up, yet he had absolutely n0 interest in going  the tourist route.  No Uffizi, no Rome, no nothing where I could actually wander off on my own and leave him to be culturally enriched by someone way more qualified than I.  Nope!  Billy was here to ride, eat, drink, and deride all things where I was not up to his standards. I did find ways to enjoy myself immensely during Billy's visit and am very grateful for the chance to show around a close friend; however, it makes for a far better read to discuss how close to wit's end I remained throughout the course of the journey. My mental fatigue was due in large part to the fact that I was living 5000 miles from home, working in a language I was far from mastering, and was continually forced to drink copious amounts of really amazing wine, gorge down pounds of fat and carb-laden cuisine, while performing my duties as trip guide and bike riding buddy. I managed all of this in a vehicle and on bikes that belonged to my employer so I was 100% responsible for.  Nevertheless, Billy was there and I was damn well going to make it fun.

We started with a rain-soaked ride the wrong way out of Panzano towards Greve and we had to climb back up a monster hill to return to the hotel in Panzano (the very lovely Villa le Barone).  Due to my wrong turn Billy assumed the role of navigator for the duration of the trip. Of course, when Billy takes a job he takes it seriously, and from that point forward if I needed to return a key to the front desk, or drop a log in the European toilets (which I continue to loathe after all these years of using them), Billy had a route laid out and was on top of keeping me going in the right direction. To poor BJs credit, he was on vacation, had never been to Italy, and was the financial sponsor of the journey, so I can see why he had big expectations and in many ways I think he got to see some great stuff, and rode some amazing rides.

However, the story of the journey could have been considerably more fun had I not been exhausted.  While outwardly, I appeared tired and somewhat cranky during much of the trip. I attributed this tiredness to lack of sleep because of worry, lack of shape on the bike, and too much wine. While these hardships had some detrimental effect, it was definitely the the nighttime sounds of Billy Jack that left me sleep deprived and praying for death on several occasions. Since Billy was paying he chose to share a room with me and forgo any chance of scoring a hot Tuscan surprise.

Now, Claude had set the precedent, but our beloved Billy snored decibels that small screaming children on airplanes could only aspire to achieve. The sudden grunts from deep within Billy were like some ghost of the Cinghiale(wild boar) Billy had voraciously ingested that day which was desperately trying to free itself from Billy's wine soaked gullet. I was sad at times, and at times I found myself close to smothering poor Billy to death with the mountain of pillows he had built around him like a fortress of protection.  The snorts, the grunts, and other sounds of digestion left me close to clearing my paltry little bank account and setting up my own room in each hotel we stayed over the course of 5 days.

As the trip grew into the final stages it was clear I was going to snap. One afternoon while Billy napped I disappeared into the respite of Montalcino and had an ice cream and pondered the amazing quality of the local wines and how much I adored them. This moment of solace allowed me to put the trip into perspective.

Billy and I had some really great talks, as we always do.  We discovered many ways we are alike, and some ways perhaps we both wished we were different. One of my colleagues whom Billy met  thought Billy and I shared enough style similarity to be related. I think overall he is a lifetime overachiever and he will continue to be. As for me I will continue to be the best friend I can, and know in all truth that sharing a room can be one of the quickest ways even good friends can falter.

When our final morning arrived I left Billy to a cab driver in Florence where I hope he got some rest, some Vivoli gelato, and maybe even an elusive Bistecca alla Fiorentina. As for me I drove the next day to southern Tuscany and braved the land of Italian cowboys  who ate 4 course meals out on the range and were amazing horsemen even in pink shirts.

So, what is perception, what is reality, and according to Billy, what is earned? When one plays in the constructs of the world that are agreed to, I believe it is all about what one makes it. I am comforted in my journey of discovery; at least until someone tells me I shouldn't be, then it is back to the drawing board of the 4 Agreements and my chance once again to decide what I am going to let drive my life.

Snoring in Europe (Part 1)

God be with those who explore

In the cause of understanding:

Whose search takes them far

From what is familiar and comfortable

And leads them to danger or terrifying loneliness.

Let us try to understand their confronting or

Unusual language; the uncommon life of their emotions,

For they have been affected and shaped and changed

By their struggle at the frontiers of a wild darkness,

Just as we may be affected, shaped, and changed

By the insights they bring back to us

Bless them with strength and peace.

Amen

This week for me begins with a tale from 2006 and my first days leading for BACKROADS. The prayer from above has stayed with me and in my pocket since 2006 and it never fails to remind me of who I am and what I do. As many of you know, I actually led cycling trips one summer before I decided to start my own biz with Antonello.

I was training in the south of France when this story took place and it led to a subsequent snoring story with my good friend while cycling in Tuscany a month later.

Snoring is a disease, and certainly there are methods to curing the suffering, and certain sleep dysfunction caused by the insipid palsy that affects so many in the tremors of the deep night. Whilst in France I was confronted with 2 sleeping options as I moved my things into the Provence leader house near Carpentras.

 A. I move upstairs to a large room with 3 or 4 other people whom I did not know, and face the challenge of walking up a flight of stairs that forced me to continue ducking until I reached the upstairs landing. Keep in mind I had just gotten a concussion that week from not ducking far enough under a trailer door as I exited carrying a pile of bike gear. This was pushing my number of lifetime concussions closer and closer to Troy Aikman territory and I had even grazed my head on the low ceiling above the stairs just a couple of days prior while at a return to Europe party in the house.

OR

B. I move into a room with one other guy, a friendly Canadian fellow named Claude (Clode) who had been leading trips for several years. The choice seemed so apparent to me I quickly ushered my things into the room with this bundle of esoteric knowledge; Claude. The funny thing was;  I went in with my gleeful bags of bouillon cubes, chefs knife, and far too many clothes, while the others in the house were looking at me as if I had just chosen Sam Bowie over Michael Jordan in the 1985 NBA draft. To those in the know, Claude the gentle while awake, became Claude; destroyer of all things, when sleeping.

However, I was undaunted as I was not only going to avoid further head trauma, I was going to once and for all wean myself from the habit of being a light sleeper. No more was I going to be fazed by erratic night noises including faucets, crickets, and flatulent girlfriends. Nevermore was I going to be left awake and contemplative of nightly suicide because of bright clocks, partially open windows, alcohol induced tremors, nothing. This Claude guy was going to show me the way to a real respite, and the white whale of a full night's sleep would be mine at last.

Sadly, just as Ahab spit his last breath at Moby Dick, I too was left grasping at the frayed elastic of my boxers and battening down the hatches of blankets over my head to endure the rampant and unpredictable squalls of snores cast upon me by the now malicious and hateful Claude. By day, he was a resource for all things Backroads. He was the inspirational traveler to Vietnam (cheers Claude, I made it!). He told me of cheap accommodations in Saigon (where he was likely evicted  after each night his unsuspecting proprietors heard the thundering tsunami of snores). Claude brought hell with each breath, and on night 1 I felt as though I had been assailed by not only Claude, but some silent arriving interloper delivering a second death blow of unique sound interspersed with the initial insonorous launch.  How could anyone claim to be asleep and make this kind of noise?

Then it turns out, to my sad surprise, that Claude is one of the legendary snoring ventriloquists. While rare, they can be spotted at times playing hold'em with the Yeti at a Lockness casino. Claude, had mastered the art of delivering a deep inhaling snore, coupled with a migrant, pitch shifting, exhaling snore which bounced around the sonic register as to appear to be coming from all sides. I mean this guy was like BOSE technology on snoring.

Needless to say, my egocentric side forced me to ride out the wave and blame the subsequent next day eye-bags on too much vino and too late to bed.Yet I knew the truth was lying 5 feet away while my short-statured colleagues were resting easy in their upstairs cave of tranquility. I loathed them all and prayed for some relief on night 2 of the onslaught. After a Tet offensive-like barrage in the first 20 minutes of tossing and turning I finally rose to my feet, blanket in hand, and made my way to the couch in the living room, only to find a sleeping colleague had beaten me to the punch which sent me back to sleep apnea hell for the remainder of another long night. I was told in the morning that the sofa would be free should I venture that way again; and I did, every night  until the troll guarding me from crossing the bridge to sleep-town decided to spend the night away...on my last night in Provence.

Puglia in May

Ca' del Fico is available in May!

Since I have been involved in Puglia my dear friend Antonello's stunning villa (Ca' del Fico)in the hills outside of FASANO in Puglia has never been available in May. As my readers know I fell in love with this amazing property in 2006 when I set eyes upon its' acres of olive trees, orchards of figs, and view of the Adriatic. Now, my first year removed as owner of Southern Visions Travel, I am more enamored than ever by the region and by this stunning piece of property.

• 2 full bedrooms including one in an ancient restored trullo

• 1 completely remodeled bath

• Free Wi-Fi all over the property (still unheard of in Puglia)

• Gorgeous Pool overlooking the sea and the Figs

• Excellent and well-equipped kitchen for fabulous food preparation

• Access to amazing bicycles and bike routes*

• Available cooking classes with a seriously talented local chef*

• Full day trips to mozzarella making, pasta making, and really killer wineries*

This is really an Italy that is not on the beaten path and not along the tourist routes of the usual money-heavy assholes that turn and burn these kinds of properties. Ca' del Fico has soul and Antonello can even arrange local bands and DJs to turn your vacation into a nightclub filled with locals, homemade panzerotti, and massage therapists onsite*

Check out the website and mention my blog for up to 20% off the typical May rate. Antonello and I can assist you with air arrangements and it is very likely this would be the best vacation of your life. Puglia is what Italy is all about and the food alone is worth the airfare.

Tell you friends as the Villa can manage up to 5 (maybe even 6) guests with ease.

There is nothing like Puglia in May (Ca del Fico)

Cheers,

Michael

*At additional costs and please inquire