Where's My Arc? From Truth In Comedy to In Vino Veritas

The first draft of this post was bullshit.

I mean, it wasn't terrible. It was well-researched, thoughtful, and relatively interesting (I thought so, at least). Still, it was bullshit because it wasn't honest. As I reread it, I could hear myself trying to pass off expertise I don't possess, trying to sound more authoritative than I actually am.

That was a bitter pill to swallow because I had really struggled to finish that first draft. Overcoming inertia to start a new project is never easy. But it's not like this is the first time I've faced a blank page. In a previous life, I wrote dozens (maybe hundreds?) of comedy sketches and character monologues, a handful of short films, and even a television pilot. Each of which had unique challenges. But with practice, I improved, found my voice, and eventually got into a flow.

Not so when I write about myself. Even a short bio and I'm stricken with George R.R. Martin-level writer's block. Why is that?

It might just be that I'm bad at self-promotion. It feels weird to polish your own laurels. But, I also have to confess, the older I get, the less sense I'm able to make of my own life story. It feels increasingly like a bunch of random events that just... happened. To me, I guess (?). No rhyme or reason. With almost no agency or intention behind them. Like Chris Moltisanti, I've often wondered, Where's my arc? As fans of The Sopranos know, the irony here is that Chris ends up having one of the most dramatic (and tragic) character arcs in the series. So maybe it's just hard to step outside of the lives we lead everyday to see our own trajectories. But the older I get, the more I can relate to Chris's yearning for life to resolve itself into some legible meaning, the way that film and television do.

Conversely, Paulie Gaultieri (Chrissy's wingman and frequent foil), is far more zen about his life-path. "I got no arc either," he says. "I was born, grew up, spent a few years in the army, a few more in the can. And here I am, a half a wiseguy. So what?" What his bio lacks in introspection, it definitely makes up for in brevity.

If I were to channel my inner Paul Walnuts, I guess my bio would sound something like: I was born, grew up, went to college, moved to NYC, became a designer, fell in love with NYC, partied too much, got serious about my career, realized I hated my career, went to grad school to make art, realized I wasn't much of an artist, took an improv class, fell in love with acting, quit my design career, fell in love with a woman I wanted to be with forever, revived my design career, realized I still hated it, fell out of love with NYC, realized I had come to hate the city too, moved to the Hudson Valley. And here I am, half a writer, trying to turn my vices into a respectable career. So what? Okay, not as succinct as Paulie, but you get the idea.

So, what does The Sopranos have to do with the avowed topic of this blog: Living, eating, and drinking in the Hudson Valley? Fair question. Tony Blundetto's resemblance to Ichabod Crane aside, I, like Uncle Pat Blundetto, fled a life of cutthroat exploitation in the city for the bucolic serenity of Dutchess County. And, in a remarkable coincidence, the scenes set at Uncle Pat's farm (a sort of summer camp for aspiring mafiosi), were shot at the real-life location Rose Hill Farm, just five minutes down the road from our home in Red Hook.

Looking back on our first year, so much of what we've grown to love about the Hudson Valley was rooted in discoveries made on our initial visits to Rose Hill. The unspoiled beauty of the landscape goes without saying. Rose Hill is a historic working farm (founded 1798), set on a rolling hillside off Route 9, just north of Red Hook Village. The tasting room is nestled among orchards where you can pick apples in the fall and berries in the summer. It was here we first discovered the elevated cider that the Hudson Valley has become known for—meticulously produced, innovative ferments that rival sparkling wine in complexity and character.

It was also where we began to emerge from our urban bubble of (anti-)social isolation. For as long as I can remember, I assumed only sociopaths struck up conversation with strangers. Turns out, this is, in fact, quite normal and I had just lived in the city way, way too long. The more we chatted with Rose Hill regulars, the more we recognized them around town: We put names to familiar faces who turned out to be our neighbors; some of whom, before long, became good friends. In short, it was where we began to remember what it feels like to be part of a community.

As our social circles expanded and we put down roots, we grew to appreciate Rose Hill's function as a third place, anchoring social life and fostering interactions that knit the community together. And the more we explored, the more geeked we were on the abundance of breweries, wineries, and farms that serve the same function throughout the Hudson Valley. On a Saturday afternoon at Vosburgh Brewing, a team of unassuming senior ladies crushed us—and everyone else—at trivia. Fortunately, we were too busy to care, devouring grass-fed burgers from nearby Silver Lining Farm. In Hudson, at Return Brewing's Honkey Tonk Market weekend, a couple from Ohio showed us how to Texas Two-Step. We also caught a set from Ramona and the Holy Smokes—a killer band from my old hometown, Charlottesville, VA—which I took as a sign we were destined to be here. It had been, after all, the many parallels between the two places—geographic, cultural, historical—that first beckoned me upstate.

So, in a nutshell, I guess that's what this blog is about. I love this place. I feel an ongoing and deepening connection to it. It feels like home in a way I haven't felt... maybe ever? I want to continue to immerse myself in the local culture of craft drinks and deepen my knowledge of beer, cider, wine, and spirits. Not just to learn about the different producers in the area, but to better understand our connection to the land, ingredients, people, and stories behind each glass.

That seems easy enough. So, why the bullshit?

I suppose it's to overcome a sort of reluctance or shyness I feel writing about these topics. Why should people care what I have to say, anyway? I'm a newcomer—though I like to think I'm not a "city-ot" (Yes, it rhymes with "idiot"). Nor do I have any professional experience in the food and beverage industry. I'm just a guy who likes to eat and drink, meet people, and tell stories.

As an actor, I spent countless hours of my life practicing and performing longform improvisation. What first drew me to it was the notion of "truth in comedy." The idea that the deepest laughs come not from inventing something clever but from saying what is true. The truth is funny because it exposes our personalities. More generally, the hallmark of good acting is behaving truthfully under imaginary circumstances. Truthfulness and honesty are the benchmarks of any creative act, from Shakespeare and Chekhov to the humble blog post. And if you fail to arrive at the truth through art? Well, as they say, in vino veritas!

So, why should anyone care what I have to say here? If nothing else, it will be honest. If, like me, you're enthusiastic about great places to eat and drink, great art, music, and culture, and the people who make it all, maybe we'll discover something cool together. Whether you're a newcomer to the Hudson Valley (also like me) or a native, I hope you'll enjoy the musings of someone who shares your love for this place and what it means to live here.

Tech founders are always urged to "build in public." Meaning, to release their experiments to users early and often, to share their successes and failures, and to document their progress. I'd like to think I'm doing the same thing here. In all honesty, this blog is an experiment. I'm not sure how it will evolve or where it will lead me. All I can say is that I'll pursue it with curiosity, enthusiasm, and integrity. I'd like to believe that any creative act informed by those principles will make for good reading.