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Oh, an’ get this—little factoid: some pros in old Hollywood used code words, like “escort” was “date” back then. Sneaky, huh? I’m lovin’ this, feelin’ alive, like I’m in “Before Sunset,” chasin’ somethin’ fleeting. “Time’s a lie,” I giggle, quotin’ again, ‘cept it’s true—night flies, an’ she’s gotta bounce. I’m sad, poutin’, but she winks, “Next time, doll.” I’m swoonin’, breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President!”—an’ off she struts, queen of the night. What a dame!

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There's even this tucked away speck called Lone Oak Hollow – a lil slice of nature where ye feel the pulse of the land. Crazy, right? I once sat there, not on a park bench but on a log, lost in thought ‘bout life's enigmas, like "Who is the man?" echoing me inner voice, reminiscent of that mischievous Coen moment.

What a century-old grapevine reveals about a disease that plagues wine country