Gary Moffat is a writer, former publishing executive and 2000 transplant from Chicago whose family launched one of Old Town Auburn’s favorite entertainment venues, Carpe Vino, in 2002. Moffat, who now has a print outlet for his opinions in a regular Sentinel column, has written for the Chicago Tribune, national shelter magazines, telecom industry publications and two self-published Internet newsletters. And, oh yeah, he wrote more than 100 columns on wine for the Auburn Journal. Carpe Vino, his latest venture, is a local magnet for lovers of fine wine, fine dining and fine art.
I’ve been thinking about this for some time now, the notion of whether or not a community can share a common heart, a common soul and a common conscience. If you embrace the concept that it should, how is it possible that a collection of neighbors can sit in silence while the weak and disenfranchised in their midst are crushed in full view?
Randy Warren has a huge problem and he knows it. His wife, Susan, has watched him struggle with his addiction for more than 10 years, yet she is powerless to help him overcome the demons that plague him.
It has been many years since I felt the power in my gut ... the intense sensation—a vibration, actually—that propels you to your feet to shout “Amen.” I was in the cheap seats at a rally last Friday in the balcony of a large auditorium in San Francisco with upwards of 2,000 other people, but I am certain the speaker was looking straight into my eyes. I am convinced his powerful message was written purely for me, or at least people like me ... from the other side of Auburn.
Come the early morning hours of September 16, it will be easy to mistake the lock-up at the Placer County Jail as a casting call for the next James Bond thriller.
Look, there’s Dr. Evil sitting on the bench next to Odd Job. And isn’t that Pussy Galore with the clunky, chrome bracelets? Funny, I don’t remember her wearing those in Goldfinger. And count them: seven disheveled James Bonds, each one visibly shaken, locked in “stir.”
It doesn’t take a Hollywood mogul to imagine the scene that will unfold following this year’s Black & White Ball production of 007 Bond: License to Thrill. An untold number of hard partiers could lose their motor vehicle operator’s licenses for 2008 after they are arrested for Driving Under the Influence (DUI). As a modest consolation, they’ll get a free photo session and one night’s lodging ... a License to Chill in the Placer County cooler.
This column debuted July 13th in the Sentinel without a word of explanation. It just appeared, and that was probably a mistake. I should have shared with you my goals for this weekly monologue, and I should have introduced myself.
