My husband and I were out to dinner last night with a couple of friends who live in a small town in upstate New York, and who are just getting interested in wine. Well, technically they live in a village. It's the kind of place where everyone knows who you are before you've signed the last of the loan docs on your home and it's crucial to stay on the right side of the plow guy. It's charming and safe and probably a whole host of other complimentary things, but it's not exactly the best place to live if you want to start exploring wine past Woodbridge Chardonnay. And let's not even start in on their busy lives, which makes the four-hour trip to Manhattan for a better selection as likely as a trip to the moon, and the "spare time" to read wine magazines and books to learn more about as common as a three-headed baboon.