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Beed⋅li⋅cious

/bɪdˈlɪʃəs/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [beed-lish-uhs] Show IPA
–adjective
1. highly pleasing to the senses, esp. to taste or smell: a beedlicious dinner; a beedlicious aroma.
2. very pleasing; delightful: a beedlicious sense of humor.
–noun
3. (initial capital letter) a red or yellow variety of apple, cultivated in the U.S.

So, I’m on the phone the other day with my daughter. She is Beed. This is to say of course that like all things that find their way into my kernel, she has a nickname. Her’s comes from two things. One – the fact that she was just this tiny precious beed of a toddler. Another had to do with what she did with an actual beed, and her nose, and her brother. For details you can ask him.

Well, as I was saying before the backstory, I called Beed the other day just to find out how she was doin. The conversation went somthing like this:  Me: “Hi, how ya doin?”   Beed: “Hi DD! – I am fine, how are you?”   Me: “I’m fine.” (pause)  Me: “Whatcha doin”   Beed: “Bakin a chocolate cake”   Me: “Mmmmm, boy I sure wish I had a piece of it”   Beed: “OK DD, I will mail you one”.

Let there be no further doubt about the significance of genetics. Further, there can be no doubt about the sense of humor is inherited. My room mate came into the house last night after a high holy days marathon (he is a singer in LA) and handed me a box. He looked at it, then at me, then at it. Reading the inscription thereupon he queried: “Who is Beed Warrick?” At that point, I offered him the same explanation I offer you.

Wondering what the box might contain, I carefully opened it….to reveal…..a piece of chocolate cake.  And it was Beedlicious.

It is at little moments like these that you realize what a precious gift you have been given.

Love you Beed. Happy 21st Burday!

DD

On one level, everything has a point of reference. Every thought comes from another. An instance, a pinprick in time.

Then there are sea gulls. They are like watching toddlers at the beach. I know it is their instinct that fuels their movement. This appears to make them even more human.

They wait on the beach, first ahead of the waves, not wanting to get their feet wet.

When a wave recedes, they move forward and grub for sea goodies. Its all in the timing.

They work quickly, but the next wave inevitably rushes back in at them, threatening to wet their feet. They turn and run back up the beach. Chased by the sea. Their little legs looking like a 3 year old running down the isle at the grocery store.

The laughter this causes is out of time. It has no reference. Just a deep seated union.

Watching Seagulls is just funny. No ticket required.

Earnest Hemingway just ran by. He looked like some Greek Neptune – Chiseled. Granite. Solid. Even his features were mythic. He skated across my canvas.

Behind him, gentle swells rise and fall. Sea air charges him.

He’s tethered to a mystical animal by some sort of umbilicus.

This odd vision of a God tethered to a dog running laboriously in the sand. You could feel the footfall. A statement about how solid and fragile we are all at the same time.

Somewhere down the beach this odd pair shuffles forward. Miles from here by now. Penned by other authors and playwrights.

Sung to the tune of “It’s too Darn Hot” from Kiss Me Kate (yes, Bur and Red – an homage for you). Just flew in from Arizona and boy are my arms tired.

The grass seems greener on the other side of the hill. I can remember standing in the shivering cold of a number of states that I have lived in post California and thinking to myself: “Ya know, I really don’t mind the heat much. Especially because it is that d – r – y heat.

I lied.

When it is 112 degrees Fahrenheit, everyone minds the heat. In fact, I am quite certain that post modern science would consider this tantamount to cooking someone in a convection oven. Which we know, is just frowned upon.

Despite the surgeon general’s warning I sallied forth through the desert in Uber Murtle (I promise to explain in the post script) to Phoenix Arizona to see my sister Lin and hubby Frank (Doug’s namesake) and niece Shay.

In our latest edition of Mr. D’s travelogue and recipe guide to the stars; many were the wonders we saw. Astounding were the miracles we witnessed. I offer as evidence…

Flying pigs. Yes, flying pigs. Apparently in Arizona they have genetically altered povines to self-refrigerate. They are everywhere. Good for the pigs. Bad for any chance of using the old adage “When pigs fly”. But I digress…

Oh yes, Phoenix has a ball team. My brotha FrankyG (his rap name of course) took us to see the Phoenix Rattle Snakes, or Rasor humps, or Diamondbacks – yea, that’s it. A fun day at the ballpark. The last time FrankyG and I went to a ballgame it was the world series at Dodger Stadium during my yooot. FrankyG – you da man.

Now, technology has come a long way at the ol ballpark. Imagine if you will an LCD screen the size of a moving van. I want one.

Then, as twilight purpled the desert sky we returned home to Newfoundland. Or at least that’s where these monster critters come from. Say hello to Sam and Holly. They are Frank and Lin’s ponies. Dogs like this in Phoenix are basically equivalent to down hill skiing in Ecuador. Somebody – get the hose.

Stay tuned for more updates from the road. Next up: The Fishmonger.

I think there are certain essential qualities to the American experience. One of these is the traditional parade that comes along with the County Fair. Now come back with us to those thrilling days of yesteryear…But seriously Mr. Peabody, where is the Wayback machine?

Back to the experience, you can pretty much insert the name of anytown USA into the picture. For me, it was the flower parade in Lompoc in the 60′s.

You know you have stumbled upon the real deal when the Shriners are in the parade.

Serious equestrian stuff. My sister’s favorite variety of horse, and no I can’t remember what it’s called. So, if you know, leave a comment. The first 100 people to correctly name this horse will get a pony ride.

This one was my favorite. He just looked majestic.

I am told by those who know such things, that the leather and silver work alone can be worth staggering sums. All I got ta say is, sometimes ya gots ta have yo bling.

If I were a real blogger, I would run over to Wiki and grab some historical background for the next picture. Alas, pure speculation is much more fun. So, what the hell was someone thinking, or drinking, or smoking, when they designed a bicycle so tall, that you cant get off. But yea, if I had a chance to ride one in the parade….

We would be remiss unless we give props to the Ophir prison marching kazoo band.

Wagon and coachwork have always been a particular fascination for me. I am pretty sure that it is in my genes. No, seriously, my great grandfather was a coachmaker. Check this one out. Almost as cool as the hearse from an earlier posting.

And no parade would be complete without a monster truck. This last addition to the roster of the classic American small town, mainstreet parade is a recent one. Wonder what kind of mileage he gets.

Just another day in the life.

Best Job Posting Ever. From Craig’s list Sacramento. Even if you don’t have a clue about design or production, after reading this job description you will want to work for these folks:

WE WANT YOU:
We want you to do the best work of your career with us.

WE NEED YOU TO:
Be proficient in all the standard creative design software packages
Create and oversee the design and production of the printed product.
Help with our customers’ agencies in making the best looking printed pieces possible.
Create things that move our publication forward to the next level.

WE NEED YOU TO BE:
Awesome. No, really. No Attitudes please.
Thick skinned.
The sole ‘go to person’ for ad design and production
A good leader, charismatic.
Fun.
Fine working alone and on a team.
Knowledgeable about print production.
A kick ass designer/graphic artist. Period.
Very articulate and tactful.
An idea kinda person, free flowing and creative thinker.
Proficient in understanding 4-color process.
Excellent with pre-press, type and color skills.
Experienced with 3-5 years graphic artist and production.
Able to manage deadlines without flying off the handle.

IT WOULD BE AWESOME IF YOU:
Were familiar with Web protocol.
Update content on our website.
Understand the ‘home improvement’ industry.
Know how to draw. Well.
Brought donuts once in a while.
Lived in the greater Sacramento Area.
Have your own home studio with all desktop publishing equipment.

WE DON’T NEED:
9 to 5’ers. If you’re just in it for the paycheck, please consider our competitors.
Prima Donnas.
Drama.
Laziness.
People not authorized to work in the US.

YOU WILL:
Have the opportunity to work for multiple market up-scale publication.
Have the opportunity to do cutting edge creative for awesome clients.
Be able to participate in all aspects of the marketing process.
Be able to advise on and design web content.
Have the opportunity to work with a growing, expanding organization.

On one level it is a little weird that I am harvesting interesting stuff for the Trifling Blog from the “Want ads”.  But since we at the Trifling blog are always trying to improve customer service; those of you who are currently enjoying a largess from employment as I am, will appreciate this post.

http://www.lunagitana.com

Livin that roady life again. Although I am not sure that “roady” is spelled with a “Y”. For that matter, I never had a great deal of confidence in the overall literacy of the roadys I have encountered. But then again, one should never judge a book by its cover, or a band by it’s roadies. Looks better with an “ie”. And truth be told,  I was not an official roady, but rather was the guy at the CD table adjacent to the bandstand where the real money is made. Seriously, I sold a butt load of their CD’s. Go the web site and give them a listen. You will want to own some of this music.

My friend and room mate Sterling Branton provides vocals and violin. The music is an eclectic mix of Latin, World percussion, Opera, Beatles and a little funk. All played simultaneously.

This was the coolest of outdoor festivals cause it was the big BALOON festival in Santa Paula. I remember Santa Paula because it is a small inland town where my grandmother lived. I can remember driving there early some Saturday morning’s with my dad. This is what we drove

How bitchin was my dad! Well, not actually but it would have been exponentially more interesting growing up if he had decided to be a low rider. Somehow, thinking of my dad in a hairnet with a tear drop tat just doesn’t resonate. Imagine that. But I digress.

Ah, the aforementioned Grandmother. We only knew her as “Bernice”

Indeed what I remember most about “Beece” was her hair. I often wondered if perhaps her head was shaped that way. She was an interesting lady. While I did not know her well, what I can say in her behalf is that she was very instrumental in bringing up my oldest sister Sherry, who is….the balm. And a truly beautiful person. Shout out to Sherry and to Liz.

Back to Luna Gitana. The festival was a kick. Good crowd, beautiful day, and lots of fun in Santa Paula

And that’s the news from Santa Boo Boo. Be well and namaste.

I woke up at the crack. Not exactly sure why I do this, but it seems to be engineered into my molecules. I headed down Mission and got on the 101 going north. Destination – Lompoc. There are a few memories that are seared into the cells of my grey matter. One of the, a very very early one is of a 50′s style diner that my folks took us to eat at when I was barely old enough to eat real food. One of the most powerful images in that kaleidoscope is of a table top juke box. Thanks to google images, here is exactly the jukebox that I remember…

This is by no means the most amazing thing about my junket today. The most amazing thing is the next picture. This one is for my sister Trink.

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I hope to type a much more detailed post tomorrow. The day was really amazing. Many more pictures and stories to come. Stay tuned.

Yes, California really does look like this. I remember now, hitting fog so dense that I had to drive on the while line with my car door open, just to stay in the middle of the road. But that was years ago. That fog seems to have lifted now. Metaphorically, other fogs will lift too we hope.

A word about travel. When you look at a map, and you see any road marked “Hwy” – this is not the same as Freeway. Freeway’s are those long stretches of road that traverse this great country of ours, making it convenient to get from one CityState to another. A HWY conversely is based solely on the route taken by Lewis and Clarke. HWY’s are where all cows live. They don’t have guard rails, rest stops, towns, phone wires or cell towers. They do have lots and lots of vultures circling overhead waiting for the unsuspecting traveler to break down. Fortunately – I did not. It was an adventure though. So, if you ever have the opportunity to travel Hwy 58 from just south of Fresno all the way to the coast – respectfully decline the invitation, and stay on the more beaten path. It is easier on the psyche.

Oh, and a shoutout to my brutha Tim – thanks for the quadruple hi-cu. I dig it the most.