Information Blues.

Yesterday as I rode my bicycle through Canyon, CA I wanted to write an autumn haiku:

Redwood stream, carpet
Of leaves: shady yellow green
On damp woolen bark.

Then I carved a pig pumpkin.

Today I pedalled a Semifreddi’s morning bun all the way up to the abandoned missile pads at the end of Nimitz Way.

One of my orchids is blooming. This little guy’s been through a lot. Doctor Bowers’ one time Biochemistry Boss gave it to him, for the holidays I think. Apparently it didn’t hold much interest in the household as it existed for a year in the living room cruising on autopilot, growing sad.

But when I adopted it things got worse. I left all four of my plants outside for a spell, wondering if they’d like it there. Then things got hard and I grew volcanic, let a few things erupt. The orchids sat exposed dying.

When I got my act back together two of the plants had died–but not this biochemical lass. I divided the vital plant from the dying and repotted it. When repotted it grew very happy, sprouted upwards like a banana tree in my kitchen, breathing sink mist.

It’s so satisfying that it’s finally blooming. The blooms are somewhat tribal, balmy little warriors wearing head-dresses. It’s hard to tell with the extreme morning backlighting, but the tongues of the flowers are actually cream, rather than the cadmium yellow of the rest.

I just found out that that part at the end of The End on Abbey Road goes Paul-George-John, not George-John!!

I’m talking about the three rounds of tasty, happy riff swapping that occurs in the song. I’ve been thinking about that passage a lot lately, about how I wish I could find a guitar buddy to trade riffs like that. I always assumed the sequence must begin with George, then John responds, then George, repeat repeat repeat. But I had a guitar lesson today with Juan Schott where he informed me that it actually goes PAUL George John. Paul! The bassist! Swaps six string guitar riffs on The End!

As soon as you listen to the song again when you know it totally makes sense. You hear Paul’s riffs and they’re nice and slinky. George’s are nasal, sitar works of subtle psychedelia. And John’s are like a cement mixer: big, sludgy, and (vaguely) meat-fingered. I like them all.

It’s fun to see each of their guitar personalities next to eachother, in a dialog of fun-loving, (sometimes fighting) bell-bottomed brothers.

The Beatles!!

(15:02:50) senor swampfox: My apple smells like bourbon!
(15:03:05) rpet1975: We here at Spuyten Duyvil are proud to be one of only six bars in the entire country (the only one in NYC) to receive a keg of Dieu du Ciel! “Peche Mortel”. We will be pouring this rare, ridiculously small batch, dark, strong (9%) Espresso Imperial Stout from Canada’s best micro at 5pm on Saturday October, 22nd. Come taste and hang with owner Stefan and brewer Jean-Francois of Dieu du Ciel!

Currently On Tap
Rogue Imperial Pils (Oregon)
Schneider Edel-Weisse (Germany)
Keegan Hurricane Kitty (New York)
Lost Coast Raspberry Brown Ale (California)
Heavyweight Biere D’Art (New Jersey)
Weltenberger Oktoberfest (Germany)
(15:03:47) senor swampfox: Nerd!!
(15:03:59) rpet1975: i’m on the distro
(15:04:04) senor swampfox: What’s the Biere D’Art?
(15:04:26) senor swampfox: There’s some heavy neck pickup going on over here.
(15:04:47) rpet1975: look it up on BA
(15:04:55) rpet1975: it’s a Biere de Garde, I believe.
(15:05:04) rpet1975: I’ve had the Southampton version. tastiness.
(15:05:07) rpet1975: french farmhouse style.
(15:05:15) rpet1975: adios con chingo
(15:05:18) senor swampfox: Shit. I’ll be there tomorrow.
(15:05:28) rpet1975: NINE YEARS LATER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(15:05:31) rpet1975 logged out.

Sad news: Bill King passed away this morning. He was the radio voice of the A’s.

I’m very fond of Bill. Listening to someone that much you really get a sense of them. To hear him narrate games, to let him become my eyes and special baseball interpreter meant a lot. He was good company. I loved to listen to him on long bicycle rides; to be able to take the game with me, up in the hills, was so cool. I listened to him in my apartment as I swept the floor, cut up vegetables in the kitchen with him talking. I took him with me on walks around the Lake, wearing my A’s hat, smiling at other baseball fans, divulging the score and tone of the game. His voice was a part of my life. I miss him already.