– Biked to work. Leftovers for lunch. Stressful day. Routed in ping pong.
– Biked to gym, gymmed it up
– Biked to friend’s. Watched an episode of Hard Knocks, which I’d never seen before. Remarkable show.
+ Beers, drugs
– Biked to Ba Le for bánh mì sandwiches
+ The ride from his place to the restaurant is a straight shot east, slight downhill gradient. We cruised the whole time. It felt like flying. Perfect night, perfect road, no cars, great smells, my amigo golden, riding no-handsies, arms wide open in the magic hour light. I was ecstatic in a very real way.
+ Bánh mì kicks so much ass
– Biked up the street to the Green Mill, infamous, historic, excellent jazz bar. Wednesday nights feature a gypsy jazz house band. Spanish guitar, violin, bass, xylophone or some cousin thereof. Stellar sounds.
+ Drank negronis and their waterback squires ($9.50 per)
+ Friend’s fiance [also a friend, who actually planned this excursion (this lack of names thing I’m doing can get goofy)] met up
– Knowing next to nothing about jazz, I wonder: at a certain point, is technical ability outweighed by the creativity of the artist? Like, every pro trumpet player is a great musician. Do the best trumpeters distinguish themselves by their improvisation? By their minds? Or is it still, even at the stratospheric level, all about playing ability? Or do those things combine into what we generally refer to as talent? In essence, what defines musical genius?
– Biked home. Cigarette, water, sleep at 1