Seven tracks

I’ve been tagged by Zoom over at KnitNut to sing seven songs for you. I do love to sing. I’m not very good but that doesn’t stop me. Bruce, for one, enjoys it.

Wait. I just checked again and it turns out I’m not supposed to sing them, I just have to list seven songs I’ve been listening to lately. Too bad. I was looking forward to the singing part.

These are the instructions:

“List seven songs you are into right now. It doesn’t matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring/summer. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.”

I’ve now read them properly, but I must make it known that I’m notoriously poor at following instructions.

I’ve not been spending much money on CDs lately. I rarely come across something I want to listen to. I am moved by great music, but bored by the average. I keep trying things like Last.FM, but I always end up with crap. There must be a better way! Maybe if I properly figured out their site. But why should that be up to me? I don’t have the patience.

I do have a couple of tracks for you though.

MGMT: Electric Feel, from Oracular Spectacular:
There’s something about this track that wakes me up and gets me excited about being here. It’s very much a me-song, a groove that zaps me with intent. I’ve not really even listened to the lyrics; the sound and the groove are what do it.
The discovery of exciting new bands like this one can reveal new facets of my personality. I become passionate and inspired. I become more fluid, interested once more in the possibility of change, even salvation.
Listen to a sample here.

Neko Case: Star Witness, from Fox Confessor Brings The Flood:
Completely different from the first one, but good God, this is sublime. The lyrics are haunting poetry, full of imagery, emotion, joy and loss. There’s all sorts of gems in here. The drums are sweet, recorded perfectly, providing ambiance, holding back the ethereal keyboard and the big surf guitar. Her voice, her inflection, her soaring dovetails. Everything flows: passion… and relax. They took their time building this song and it shows. Like good poetry, it leaves room for the listener.

Roxy Music: If There is Something, from Roxy Music:
A beauty. Starts off with a country feel, the bass and drums all happy, but then the sax and the guitar start flirting and spooning in a way I’ve not heard before (or since).
“I would climb mountains… swim the ocean blue…” He’s almost yodeling. There’s an urgency here, tempered with craftsmanship.

Penguin Café Orchestra, Music from the Penguin Café:
A combination of classical, folk, and rock. I’d love to make music like this. The production is just how I like it – big, warm, and messy. Imagine what it sounds like on Vinyl!

This concludes my music lesson for today. I am now standing by for more musical suggestions.

Happy Father’s Day

I had a lovely Father’s day last Sunday.

I guess I knew Father’s Day was coming, but all I felt was a vague sense that I was supposed to do something. I wondered what. But then I remembered: call my father. But it’s not Father’s day in Canada. It happens on a different day over there, doesn’t it? (Rationalizing can be useful. What guilt?)

But when I woke up Sharon said to me, “Happy Father’s Day! What would you like for breakfast?”

I hadn’t realized – it was my first father’s day! Me, a dad!

I got my favourite breakfast (cream cheese, lox and onion on a toasted bagel) and later on a nice steak for dinner. Not bad, eh? I tried to remember what I’d done for Sharon on Mother’s day… I couldn’t. She reminded me: I was hungover and useless. I’d been out the night before, wetting the baby’s head. All I could manage was a pathetic back rub.

But that’s not all. After what seemed like hours locked away in the living room, Sharon and Bruce presented me with this card.

The footprint is easy to make out; the unrecognizable glob on the left is his paw. (Apparently he wasn’t into the idea of flattening his hands).

He painted the inside all by himself. He clearly has talent.

Thanks Bruce. Thanks Sharon. That was totally unexpected. I guess this is for real now, eh?

600 Miles

The Dragon had her first (600 mile) service today. I scheduled this a few days ago, and was a little concerned I’d be way over, but I was pretty close: 592. Later on it won’t matter as much, but right now I’m trying to be a good boy and run her in properly.
It’s hard though.
But this 600 miles is a landmark, a milestone, a life event: I can now rev her to 6K all the time. And from now on, every 100 miles I can rev her 1000 more, until I reach 1000 miles, at which point I can drive her as hard as I want, anytime I want.

I’ve been through this break-in period three times now, and I must say that it’s excruciating. This time especially.

The ZRX was difficult, but she had so much grunt down low that there was still plenty of fun to be had. Still, the 1,000 mile mark was a celebration of all that is good about motorcycling (and there’s plenty).

The Versys was difficult for an entirely different reason: at the recommended RPM she could only do 70 mph – and this was in sixth gear! I was getting passed by Vauxhalls and Volkswagon Polos. Dark times. Limping libido.

The pain with breaking in the Dragon is the denial of the power band. There’s a shitload of excitement up between 6 and 10 that I’m dying to explore. I know it’s there because I drove the dealer’s demo bike. (Poor things, demo bikes: they never get properly broken in, just abused). But I’m almost there. We did 600 miles in my first week, so at this rate it won’t be long…

I installed a new windscreen today, the Eurocut model from Cee Bailey’s. Takes away somewhat from the streamlined look, but it creates a nice comfortable buffet-free zone when it’s fully up. It’s not completely quiet, but I think their tallest model would have been just a bit too silly looking. The instructions called for inch-pounds of torque. Inch pounds! Well, I didn’t even have a foot-pound torque wrench, so I just did it by feel. It’s probably wildly off. I’ll try to borrow a torque wrench tomorrow.

(Inch pounds! Who woulda thunk it?)

Unfortunately she has to be on the street tonight, due to the cowboy gardeners using my driveway as a warehouse. The neighbors made up for it with a bottle of wine, so it’s not all bad. (I would have preferred Scotch, but hey).

The Train

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This is what the train says:

When I first rode this train I was completely taken with that voice. She speaks at every stop. The way she pronounces Gourock makes me lighter somehow. She lilts up on the last syllable, as if she’s asking a question – Gourock? Where is that? But it’s her rolling ‘r’ that kills me. And the collapsing of the vowels. It sounds so exotic.

I like how the pronouncement is so final: “This train is for Gourock”. As if it’s this train’s sole purpose, to take us to Gourock, where (as she says later on), “this train will terminate.” Then they build us a new train for the next time. There’s something very appealing about that.

This train is for Gourock. I like it. We’re in the right place.

Enter the Dragon

I picked up the Gila Monster yesterday at lunchtime. All I can say is: WOW.

Well, ok, I can say more than that.

It may look like a monster of a machine, but she responds like a nubile sex kitten (and you know who you are). She’s smooth, comfortable, and very, very powerful.

I used to like naked bikes (funny how sex always comes into it, eh?) – and I still do, but tastes change I guess. I think she’s lovely.

I walked into the Kawasaki dealership yesterday at lunchtime to pick her up. Soon as I walked in the door there she was, in the middle of the showroom floor, the mechanic lovingly wiping her down with a diaper. (Ok, maybe it wasn’t a diaper). I was smitten. I hadn’t seen one up close for several months. And there’s the very thing I’ve been pining for, and it was mine. I still couldn’t believe I’d be driving this beautiful beast away.

But I did. Carefully. It’s a big bike, you wouldn’t want to drop it.

I took her on the Auchmountain Road after work today. It was a very different experience than the Versys. That bike was really light and flickable, this one takes a little more work though the tight stuff but yes, yes, yes. The brakes are like nothing I’ve ever experienced. They are progressive. One little squeeze and she squats, settles, and sheds the speed like water off a duck. (In that order, and she sheds it fast.) Usually the squat and settle process is crazy, exciting, dangerous – but the GTR handles hard braking with civilized authority.

The handling is smooth and sexy – though as I say, she does take a little more work than the Versys. The Versys was so light that subtle shifts of body weight would make it happen; this one is heavier, but in a good way: the front end is more planted; she’s more sure of her footing.

Power: yes. However, I’m still well within the break-in period so I can’t yet elaborate yet on the ecstasy to be found between 5,000 and 11,000 rpms. Just as the afterburners are kicking in I’m supposed to change gears. Oh, that’s hard… but I want this engine to last. The break-in should only take another two weeks. Trust me when I say I’ll keep you informed.

I still can’t quite believe this sexy beast is actually mine.

Watch this space – I have a feeling I’ll have a lot to say about this sizzling Dragon over the coming months.

Dishes

As a dedicated husband and father I’ve been trying to do more around the house lately.

Doing the dishes is getting easier, but it sure seems to take me a while. For a quickly prepared meal it’s not so bad; but when she’s used every single knife and fork and all 17 saucepans (and this is just the two of us!) – then it’s going to take me some time to get my head together, build up the courage.

This involves finding the iPod, the iPod speaker system and all the various cables, syncing the latest podcasts, then finally moving all this gear into the kitchen and setting it up. All to realize that the iPod has formatted itself again. Hell, I’m committed at this point, so it’s a trip back up to my study with a supply of beer and cigarettes to sync it again.

Once I get the podcast going (Car Talk, or Prairie Home Companion, both from NPR), I’ll survey the horror and then just get going. That takes practice, the getting going part. I used to skulk away under a dark cloud of self-pity, but now I just ignore the stacks in my peripheral vision and just start with what’s in front of me, which is usually a sink full of dirty dishes soaking in nastiness. Sharon has no idea what strength of character it takes me to reach down into that horrible greasy mess to pull out the plug. And then fish about for the dishcloth, which invariably is covered with the slimiest of crud. This thoroughly revolts me. I can’t tell you.

Instead of filling the sink back up again, I just leave the water running and clean as I go.

This way I can rinse the dishes directly after I’ve washed them. Perhaps I should think about all that wasted energy and water, but I’m on a mission here. My sacrifice has just begun.

I can deal with ominous towers of scorched pots and crusted plates. Weekly therapy helps me deal with the slime in the bottom of the sink. But it’s the hot water supply which goads me, bullies me, trips me onto my face and then laughs at me. At full blast the hot-water tap isn’t a problem. But at a nice modest flow, perfect for washing dishes? Forget about it. It gets scorching hot all of a sudden, causing me to swear loudly and smash another glass. The sensible thing to do now would be to add a little cold water to the mix, right? Wrong. That way lies frustration and futility. Within seconds the water is ice cold. Christ. Fine, so I’ll just turn the cold off. And so I’m left with a trickle of lukewarm uselessness. But no matter how gingerly I adjust it, as soon as my hand leaves the hot-water tap the faucet is gushing a fire-hose of even colder water.

There’s a thousand variations, none of which results in a steady stream of proper hot water. I soon realized that this boiler was like a diesel engine – it only performs well when under load. So I started turning the central heating on to high while I did the dishes. This helped. But neither my conscience not my wallet can it afford now that it’s summer. (And I thought war was supposed to be good for the economy.)

Sharon doesn’t ask me to do the dishes anymore. Too much yelling and stress and broken stuff. As a good family man sometimes I’ll just do them anyways. Not often, mind you – it just doesn’t occur to me. Sometimes when I realize how much other stuff she actually has to do I’ll notice and offer, but usually she just takes a good look at me, gauging my mood, before suggesting something less vexing, like running the Hoover. How hard can that be? Don’t get me started.