With daylight, reason returned and gone was the previous night's debauchery, but both the sentiment of horror and remorse remained in regards to the conversations I elicited with … the Voice. Guilt, was it guilt I suffered? The voice’s disparaging remarks about 45’s and my love for such trivial objects. But I found myself sharing the same odious views! How can that be? I needed to convince myself, somehow, that my soul survived untouched by the experience. Again I felt obliged to plunge headlong into excess; quickly I made myself a triple espresso, straight-no chaser of cream, as I had to focus on the tasks of the day: a new blog.

Anyway, back to reality, here are some more 45 company sleeves from around the world.

Dreaming on a tour can only twist your waking hours...

In the morning before our long drive to Florence, guitarist Lyman woke dreaming of zombies and a world segregated into vegetarian and constantly hungry, brain-eating zombies. Violinist Julie had a terrible dream about a job interview and making spreadsheets, in her words "a wasted dream" while traveling in Italy. Violist Heather keeps on dreaming of tasty meats, smoked sides of ham, pigeon pies
and cornish hens.

On the long drive from Naples to Florence it was my turn to dream twistedly. I snoozed in the sun in the van until the clouds rolled in and the temperature dropped, I woke up cold and confused and with a massive headache. I dreamt I worked at Ikea and I was up for a promotion, but first I had to pass a physical. The attending nurse detected that my spinal fluid was low, so she hooked me up to an IV and inserted a spinal tap.  While I laid there in bent discomfort, friends and acquaintances came by and rubbed my fore head. At one point someone started singing quietly in my ear, I looked up to find Bjork smiling down at me.

But its my brain in my waking hours that keeps on gyrating as if dreaming...

I assumed from the very beginning that the disappearance of our luggage was no accident, that it must have been 'displaced' on purpose, on the sly. Perhaps an inside job? (Remember- there are no coincidences). Were we the guinea pigs to a sinister Karl Rove, mind control, kind of plot? Secret governments/ organization/ syndicates trying to pin some international crime on us -just because they can!- an act accomplished by simply doctoring and packing our bags, guitars, toothpaste with something only evil-doers would pack. But something I've learned, the hard way, on the mean streets of LA, driving those wretchedly cracked freeways, trying to share the road with gargantuan SUV's, gargantuan egos, and gargantuan film companies screwing up traffic at their will at every turn, (as if they built this entertainment capitol of the world!), for their precious movie shoots.

 
Alfred Peet, entrepreneur and the founder of  Peet's Coffee & Tea, who opened his first store in Berkeley over 40 years ago and is credited with spawning our insatiable appetite for gourmet coffee has died at his home in Ashland, Ore. He was 87.

He was born in Alkmaar, Holland in 1920 where
his father ran a coffee roastery business.  After the Second World War, Peet left Europe and in 1955 immigrated to San Francisco working for E.A. Johnson & Co, importing coffee.

Peet set up his first shop in 1966, opening a small store in Berkeley at 2124 Vine Street, near the UC campus. To set himself and his coffee apart, he personally hand roasted high-quality beans, soon he opened new stores in Oakland and Menlo Park.

The founders of Starbucks, such as Jerry  Baldwin,  were among his early customers and
found their inspiration in Peet's business plan.
Early on, before Starbucks became the
gargantuan enterprise it is today, they purchased their roasted coffee from Peet’s, until Peet could no longer keep up with the supply demands of the chain.

After Alfred Peet retired in 1983, Baldwin and his partners purchased Peet's Coffee for $4 million.

I can’t emphasis how important a great cup of java is to me. Back in the old days, before internet time itself, whenever a friend of mine traveled up to the Bay Area, I would beg them to bring back a couple bags of Peet’s coffee.

I salute you Alfred Peet! You've made my life richer!