The Beet Rolls On

A word for Robbins, and Alobar.  The coincidences following the rearrangement of the Lot 6 almost too much.  DM bringing up the cowgirls, the Athens bar and Nepal hostel, and the beets at Brooklyn Warehouse tonight.  Time for Book 2.  Almost too excited, into the double dubonet on ice and Hungoose journals to set the mood.  So long ago, indeed.

Specificity = Everything

A week on from the St. Patrick's Day recovery.  A grand one this year, from the Flight of the Conchords in the early line-up, the Flight of GoT scotches, multiple rounds of Wild Mountain Thyme, the newly loved Come by the Hills, the ridiculousness of Stayner's and Celtic in the missing hours, and a final return to the starting post.  A day in full, as per grand tradition.

Now a new week, the bracket mostly busted, a newly rendered playlist of hopes and dreams sent off as you wait for the summertime a' coming.  Glorious catch-up, the last word, and a rest in the Hillside basement amidst ancient blankets and the start of a new soundtrack for sailing season #9.  With plans made for the Bluejays opening weekend, re-arrangements made for the flu-ridden banker and minister and Greek basement scheming all.

News of Barr's Mueller characterization over the weekend unsurprising, and the framing of it as vindication predictably disappointing.  Juxtapose that with the magic of Jan's Zambezi sunset video uploaded from Lusaka today, set to Dope Lemon's perfect soundtrack instantly downloaded.  Or the Gal Costa of Friday night, such beauty-power-history in the translated lyrics.  The difference in attitude of what you might yet chronicle.

That application remains in abeyance, even as optimism remains strong.  The decision needs to be made on whether the 2020 election should be the focus or only a minor piece.  20 + 20 = 40 is also true, and maybe there is a way to do an Access All Areas (who is owed credit for the title), an Around the Day in Eighty Worlds.  A type of Traveler's Almanac written retrospectively, for the specific year or otherwise.  Let the politics play a background role, but not the overarching one. 

I think that is right.  The obligation to cover everything at once needs to be dispensed with, so the doors of opportunity can be kicked open in the seeking out of all the beauty in randomness beyond it.  Randomness already accumulated that was meant to be repurposed, and randomness yet to come that will fill in the blanks.  All non-fiction and all true and all layered just so.

That seems the kind of book that would be good to write.  Which flows from left to right, but also right to left and in which you can jump around.  Think more on it.  The articulation of the idea remains important. 

Secrets

Back safely, through the 737 max and the start of the break and the usual Blarney of work.  No one even really noticed, and you escape with perhaps another opening freeing up.  The Efficiency crap remains a lingering potential annoyance, but if your luck holds it is a point rife for settlement.  And how can it not, with chants of Aubameyang ringing through your head after that penalty.  The opposition net at the Clock End will never seem as big as it did for Xhaka’s opener.  The Rocket/Nando’s right out of the tradition playbook.  As will be the early wake-up call for the 17th.

Funny call from Marina on Wednesday after the statement was sent, just as the night’s plan emerges from some drunk texting of the plan to Chinn before the kick out.  A sense of time running out but not yet.  Was close to serious frustration in Kloten but somehow the ease and oddity and exceptional randomness of that lingers.  So see how it unfolds.  The possibility of the Deep South in the heat of summer remains as well, as April Fool’s approaches.  Add the successful banker email to it, along with the dream of Baku, and you have some intrigue as you roll into 40.

Where do these things ever end, but back at similar beginnings, only ever older?

That’s a thought for a day where the Ahab dream is officially dead.  But not at a price that makes you too jealous, and after the MFA choice was made.  That news should come soon after the administrative snafu, and it feels the correct choice of the two.  The Brier Island remains an older man’s escape plan, for now you have a chance to fulfill a goal that suits you.  It must just be seized with effort - efforts that should begin now.

Write the Shakespeare and Company story.  Write the Stauffer story.  Those two should keep you busy to start.  Then figure out (Berat) what’s next...

Match Day

A successful trip, in the end.  Eurostar delay yet it worked out for Founders.  As did all of the transit throughout.  Denial of entry at the Maple Leaf added to the humour, but persistence paid off.  Alas for the box of wine, yet the rain was a brilliant touch.  As was the Princess video.  The detour to Zurich will pay future dividends, I am sure.

Lots of good photos from yesterday, the masks a stroke of genius, but a sadness to this occasion as it will be the last of the Crossley visits.  And even now there is the sense of a passing, as movement to begin the day runs slowly.  The laughter from the bedroom a good sign though, and hard not to be happy for the man.  A pleasant girl, well suited, a Lindsay-esq type.

So I have repatriated some books that are unlikely to be missed in the moving process.  Dating back to the Camino, it has been that long.  But times moves and leases expire.  And we grow so very old.  There is still time though.  To write and be merry.

“I know what I need to do,” tells the child outside the window.  If only it were that simple.  But I do know what needs doing today.  Shower, Piebury, beer, Block 5, Nando’s, sweet rest.  Soak it in.  So let’s begin.

Grandma Emergencies

All that concern about weather, delays, the rest.  And in the end, plans scuttled because “Grandma Esther is very sick in Zurich.”  A short story title if I’ve heard one.  About the nature of travel and randomness and consequence.  Perfect secret bar phrase at a minimum.  

The downtown flying pig is slightly recognizable, although the sleeping area is now a pool table and the reception sign has been replaced by standard lettering.  The looks from that painting have not changed.  The grasshopper is a tourist trap that still delivered a decent carpaccio and heiny, while serving as the location for email #1.  The bike lanes and canals and trams lovely, as is the train ticket collector who wished you a pleasant stay.  The novelty seems less surreal in a post-cannabis legalization world.  Or maybe I just grow old.

Bar Bukowski now, as you try and stay awake long enough to cruise into the magical forest room, first real bed in many nights.  Alone.  Since another whole day and night would be depressing, and you are not the type to fail at the last hurdle, off we go to Basel tomorrow, of all places.  It saves $200 versus the direct and arrival closer to the hotel’s preferred  time in any case, winds permitting.  For the bus/train and then to Kloten and the self-check-in. 

 Forgive me my ravishings, old Esther, as host family attention shifts to you.  

“Stay with the beer.

 Beer is continuous blood.

 A continuous lover.”  - CB

Stay tuned to see if there is a final twist in the hours ahead.

The Tarnished Tire

So, bag packed, bus to airport to grab the rental.  Insurance declined and loose rubber smashed just a few minutes in.  Poor white Nissan Note, but despite that and the low gear post-toll transmission damage to the 700km beauty, all should be ok on tomorrow’s return.

The queue has formed outside Roazhan Park, how many in North America will be logging on in a few short hours?  Beautiful way to get into the jet lag and prep for the derby.  A bit of a bonus game, even as a performance would set the stage all the more for the stolen days to come.  That ticket is the final puzzle piece, along with the juggling of the standby to Moncton and the last minute work tasks.

You leave behind a parade of lies, and can only hope to bluster your way through the week without discovery.  As others look to justify the elusive penny for active demand, it feels right to disappear...

Much to anticipate... flights, Cocomama, Princess herself, hotel verte and the Mont Merveille, Shakespeare’s and Clara and Comptoir, and that’s all before the weekend main event.  Days like these.

To sleep.  Let’s see what comes next to fuel the nostalgia of the future.