Cup XV: I've Just Heard a Voice I Can't Forget

Tea: Wild Berry Plum Green

Music: Lara Supan, "Almost Blue"

Time: Midpoint of a pensive night

OK, so I've heard this voice before. But I like hearing it. And you should hear it, too.

I found Lara Supan on YouTube, while looking for versions of Elvis Costello's "Almost Blue." Her take on the song, simply recorded in her living room, may be my favorite.

Check that. It's definitely my favorite. I love the low woodwind in her voice on this song, and the others she covers. She doesn't try to be Elvis Costello -- or Mrs. Costello, aka Diana Krall, whose version I also own and like.

And in making the song her own, she makes it achingly unforgettable. When I think of "Almost Blue" now, this is the version that leaps to mind.

Her MySpace has other songs ... and she has an EP of original material coming out this fall. Yes, I plan to order it.

Give her a listen. I'm betting you'll be hooked, too.

Cup XIV: Hello, My Name is Neville

Tea: Ginger Peach Green

Music: Various selections, played by a high school string ensemble

Time: Morning

I'm not a morning person, when morning is defined as "that portion of the day when the sun has risen but has not yet passed overhead."

I did get to see the son perform with his high school strings group earlier. That's always good.

But at the moment, I am riddled with ennui. In the vernacular, I got nothin'.

Rather than drag you into the great greybrown landscape that is my mind at present, I invite you to amuse yourselves here and here and here.

It's almost noon, rhymes with "soon," which is when I will shed this wet wool around my brain.

Cup XIII: The Man With an Aim

Tea: Earl Grey Smokey

Music: Robert Fripp, "Evensong Coda Viljandi"

Time: Evening, tipping into night.

Robert Fripp doesn't sign autographs, sits -- literally -- out of the spotlight when King Crimson reincarnates and plays live and is fond of dropping such aphorisms as: "It is not necessary to be cheerful. It is not necessary to feel cheerful. But look cheerful."

He's also an extraordinarily gifted guitarist, who by all accounts takes his audience as seriously as he asks his audience to take him.

His work with King Crimson can be terrifying and tender, sometimes in the same song ("Starless," anyone?) His Soundscapes, like this one, are often transcendent.

Download it here, but do it quickly. Each free selection lasts only for a limited time.

Then sit and listen, and be still.

And with that, it's time to take my own advice.

Cup XII: Weren't We a Luverly Bunch of Loroco-Nuts?

Tea: Valentine, steeped a bit too long.

Music: Harry Connick Jr., "It Had to Be You"

Time: Night.

First Foodspedition today, to El Pulgarcito in Merriam. It's a tiny Salvadoran place, with which I have fallen head over palate in an odd sort of love.

"Five white people," Brian said. "This must be some kind of a record."

We were three of the five: One with green hair, one with red and one with none. Had I avoided the sun a little more this summer, we could have put our heads together and done a pretty creditable imitation of an Irish flag.

Three Anglos in the same booth at El Pulgarcito constitutes a curiosity, although I've been part of a larger group. Clan Steve takes up five spots at the counter, and one day an excursion that started with my friend Scott and his son grew to include his wife, her mom and two more kids.

It was Aubry's first visit. Brian and I have been converts for a while, although we took separate paths to this bit of culinary enlightenment.

Aubry didn't get the full Salvadoran experience, though. They switched the music over from Salvadoran to whitebread bland (yes, that's you, Star 102), and the waitress spoke more English than Spanish. Still, Aubry's a new fan of El Pulgarcito.

We all ordered pupusas, the specialty of the house, and each of us got at least one with white cheese and loroco. (Yes, I could describe pupusas, and loroco, but that's what the links are for. Go on, click. Don't make me do all the work.) I also got a pork tamale, because I'm a sucker for just about anything wrapped in a banana leaf and steamed.

The waitress brought a large jar of curtido, sour and spicy Salvadoran slaw, which is an outstanding topping for both pupusas and tamales. Here's a recipe.

The pupusas (with various fillings) and tamales (chicken, pork or corn) are two bucks each, making them leading contenders for best cheap eats in Kansas City. There's a more extensive menu, including a whole fried fish, and I'll get to it all eventually.

Despite the soft "rock," which detracted a bit from the overall atmosphere, the Foodspedition was a great success. Next up, who knows? The only given is that we'll be going somewhere independent.

Big chains are fine for bicycles and keeping vicious dogs from sinking their teeth into innocent backsides. But for restaurants?

Not so much.

Cup XI: Springfield Ham(burger)

Tea: Rum Vanilla

Music: Johnny Rivers, "Secret Agent Man"

Time: Evening

Something very cool happened today. I found a new old hamburger joint.

It's Taylor's Old Fashion Steakburgers (yeah, I know the name's ungrammatical. It just adds to the attraction) in Springfield, Mo.

Taylor's has been around since 1947 and serves the old-school thin hamburgers -- sorry, steakburgers -- from meat ground fresh each day. Yes, there's a difference.

I got the double cheese with ham. It was worth the cholesterol.

Interesting note: The menu shows prices from 1955, listing a "Winstead's Steakburger" for, I think, 30 cents. So, being naturally nosy, I asked the waitress about the connection.

"Oh," she said, clearly used to answering the question. "Taylor married a Winstead."

Burger alliances by marriage. Who'd have guessed?

Oh, and I made the Jeopardy contestant pool. Whew.

Cup X: One Down, One to Go, Another Town and One Game Show

Tea: Vanilla Jasmine

Music: Threshold, "Mission Profile"

Time: Night, after a long day

So here I am, overnighting in Springfield, Mo., which means that yes, I passed the first round of the Jeopardy test. Next up, the 50-question test. That's at 9 a.m., which means I have precious little time to go on Wikipedia and change every answer in the known universe to "Latvia."

I got to the testing site two and a half hours early, anticipating a gigantic line. I was No. 33. So I read and listened to music. I worked on the novel and talked to a fellow word guy and met his girlfriend, both very cool people. (Matthew and Melissa, that's you. You have the contact info. Call me next time you're in Kansas City.)

Oh, and my socks were not only unmatched, but gloriously so. Left foot, orange and black with narrow stripes. Right foot, green and black with wide stripes.

I didn't ace the test (locked up on "Lean Cuisine"), but nine out of 10 turned out to be good enough.

None of the answers, by the way, was "Latvia."

Give me time, though ... just give me time.

Cup IX: Snagged on Pop Hooks

Tea: Ginger Peach with honey

Music: Absolute fluff. You got a problem with that?

Time: Night.

I always laugh when people ask me to name a favorite anything, and music is no exception. My CD, mp3 and WMA collections look as though they should belong to at least six people, maybe seven.

So yeah, I love a good three-minute pop song.

Killer hooks? Check. Tight harmonies? Check. Absolutely nothing weighty to say? We have a winnah!

And because I can't own every song I want, I love to go pop-hunting on YouTube.

Songs like this and this and this. This one, too, and this, and by all means this and this. (And just try to tell me that "Wayne Famous" isn't the greatest rock and roll name. Ever.)

Fine. Let's make it an even dozen: This and this and this and this and this -- yeah, even if Andy Taylor did lift the riff from "Bang a Gong (Get it On).

OK, a baker's dozen: Stick this one on top, and there's a flufftastic bagful of ear pastries.

Not all of the tunes on YouTube come attached to the original promotional videos. The Marshall Crenshaw song, for example, is a fan vid. Still, the music makes it worth sitting through the various homages.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some background la-las to sing.

Cup VIII: The Past, in Passing

Tea: Moroccan Rose and Mint

Music: Howard Jones, "No One is to Blame"

Time: Late night into early morning

Going to crowded street festivals alone is both strange and settling.

I talk to strangers -- a necessity for a freelancer. The next person I chat up just might have the greatest story idea ever, or maybe just an interesting story to borrow, adapt and weave into something fictional.

But in the next moment, I slip into observer mode and become almost invisible. It's an oddment, though, that I always seem to be walking against the stream of people when I'm in that frame of mind and sense.

Last night (or earlier tonight, if you will) at the Plaza Art Fair, I was in sociable form early on. I joined mailing lists and entering drawings for free tickets to hear chamber music or a symphony orchestra, take in "The Nutcracker" or a Broadway musical revue, see a play at the Missouri Rep -- or maybe something a little edgier at the Unicorn (or perhaps, if I'm really lucky, a play about flesh-eating zombies.) I'm not even that big an opera fan, but I'd be up for some Puccini or Mozart if I happened to score free tickets. And while the Shakespeare productions every summer are already free, reserved seats -- not to mention guaranteed parking, which can be a pain -- would be pretty cool, too.

I ran into someone I hadn't seen for several years, only to find out she works for my cousin. Two minutes after that, alone once more, the switch flipped and I was on the outside looking in.

Sometimes I notice faces, sometimes something in a frame, sometimes a snatch of conversation. This time, it was a swish of red hair, a few inches past shoulder length.

We passed, going opposite directions on Nichols Road. She was with her family, perhaps part of a larger group. It took a few seconds for the memory to kick in.

We dated -- twice, I think -- more than twenty years ago. Never a gigantic spark, which is one reason there weren't more dates, but I was on sort of a mission to go out with every attractive redhead on campus.

Hours later, I still can't recall her name. Surprising. I'm usually good with names. There was a moment, when I was still trying to figure out who she was, in which I thought she might have recognized me. If she did, she didn't show it. No offense taken; I look a good deal different now.

She has aged beautifully -- but her smile still doesn't touch her eyes.

Cup VII: Ars Gratia ... (What's Latin for "Making Me Less Grumbly?)

Tea: Vanilla Lapsang

Music: Whatever's on my car radio.

Time: Evening.

I'm blahful and cranky tonight. Going to the Plaza Art Fair will, I hope, restore me a bit.

More tomorrow, I'm sure.

Cup VI: With One Breath, With One Flow, You Will Know ...

Tea: Pu-er Dante/Mango

Music: Theme from "Jeopardy!"; The Police, "Synchronicity I"

Time: Afternoon

So maybe it's not a complete synchronicity. It's close, though.

Three days after I grumbled about making the Jeopardy! contestant pool and never getting a call to be on the show, I find out the Jeopardy! Brain Bus is going to be in Springfield, Mo., on Tuesday. It's actually going to be closer to here later in the week, in Grandview, Mo., but I have a writing gig that night.

Springfield's three hours away. Looks as though there's a drive in my future, maybe an overnight stay if I get through the first round of tests -- and, of course, more caffeine.

Wish me luck.

Cup V: (But I Never Really Thought Everything Looked Worse in Black and White)

Tea: Ginger Peach with honey

Music: Paul Simon, "Kodachrome"

Time: Night.

"When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school, it's a wonder I can think at all ..." -Paul Simon

So today, dear Diary, I played teacher. Sort of. I sat in on a couple of senior Advanced Placement English classes and a fourth grade class at a local school. No, not at the same time.

Quite frankly, the prospect left me apprehensive. I know how to write, yes, but how to teach writing and critical reading? I pictured eyes glazing, rolling, looking out the window.

It wasn't so bad, even though the seniors were discussing Ralph Waldo Emerson instead of the Civil War book I stayed up until 3 a.m. finishing. Most of the time was spent in observation, interjection and familiarization. Good minds, although I wish some of them would dig in deeper to defend their points of view.

The fourth graders were a lot of fun (and I went in more intimidated by them than by the high school kids). Lively imaginations, for the most part, and they all seemed eager to get in on the story improvisation section.

So, I've been invited back. And I'll be going back. But don't start calling me "Sir" just yet.

Cup IV: Mine Eyes are Still Looking for the Glory

Tea: Blood Orange, with honey

Music: Bugle calls and drum beats, in my mind's ear

Time: Night

Herbal tea? Yes. I've already had plenty of caffeine tonight.

I'm two-thirds of the way through "Killer Angels," by Michael Shaara, about the Battle of Gettysburg. It's an engaging read, although one that was chosen more for me than by me. More on that tomorrow, I'm sure.

Seems odd, in this day and age of radar and reconnaisance flights and spy satellites, to think of a war in which two armies could be scant miles apart and not know each other's exact strengths ... in which riders, rather than radio waves, carried orders back and forth ... in which taking a defensive position was somehow seen as less honorable than charging across an open field of fire, even when that was tantamout to suicide by enemy fire.

But at the heart of it, it's still people killing people -- hardly an ideal set of circumstances in any century or venue. I know, "A time of war, and a time of peace;" etc. Sometimes, humanity being what it is -- which is to say, capable of the worst sort of inhumanity -- there's nothing for it but to fight. The idea, though, that somehow war is a glorious thing?

Can't buy it.

My father was a Marine during World War II, fighting in the South Pacific. He carried a Browning Automatic Rifle at Guadalcanal and Cape Gloucester, New Britain, and that was hazardous duty. He talked little of combat, although he would gladly tell stories of his basic training, his time on the troop ships and his short stint in college, studying to be an engineer, when he was rotated home before the war ended.

But I wanted more. When I was growing up, I asked him countless times -- as I'm sure sons of veterans have done since the first armies formed -- whether he killed anyone. He finally answered that yes, he had. He had pointed the BAR at a tree and sprayed, killing a Japanese sniper who was targeting his unit.

At the time, I thought that was pretty cool. Looking back, I can see that it pained him. He was a peaceful man who, for the most part, put the war behind him. He never went to reunions, didn't join the VFW, didn't keep in contact with his Marine buddies (many of whom, to be fair, never made it through the next battle after he came home).

He understood, long before I did, that while there might be "a time of war," it's not a time for which anyone should wish.

Cup III: Jeo-pu-er-dy, or is that Jeopar-tea?

Tea: Pu-er with ginger, hand mixed, heavy on the ginger

Music: Theme from "Jeopardy!"

Time: Late afternoon.

Some of the tea is being used to soak dried shiitake mushrooms. They'll go in the wok, drained and sliced, along with some tofu, eggplant, onions, peppers, carrots and, um ... whatever sauce I decide I want to mix up.

Yeah, I know ... yesterday, I said carnivores rock. They still do, and I still am one. I'm the tofu stir-fryer, not the tofu buyer.

All three people missed the Final Jeopardy answer (Question: What is "London Bridge"?) Boneheads, all around.

"But Steve," you say, "could you do better?"

Than this bunch today? Yeah. Better than Ken Jennings? Who knows? I took the Jeopardy test a couple of years ago, and qualified for the contestant pool, but that was the year he went on that long tear and they didn't need quite so many contestants.

(A lot of people were howling at the time: "Go back to the five-day limit for champions! It's not fair for one person to be on so long!")

This, to be polite, is a load. Someone reaches the top in a competition like that, he or she ought to be able to hold the crown as long as the challengers fail to take it.

I'll take the test again someday. At least, I'd like to. I'm not addicted to any show, game or otherwise ... but Jeopardy?

I'll take "Things That Would Kick Butt" for $2,000, Alex.

Cup II: Lovely, blue-sunny day for Jayhawks and dinosaurs

Tea: Pu-er Poe/Jasmine blend

Time: Midmorning

Music: Bill Withers, "Lovely Day"; Jayhawks, "I'm Gonna Make You Love Me"; Adrian Belew, "Big Blue Sun"

It's a bit of hopeful thinking, perhaps, this whole loveliness thing. It's supposed to be 90 out today, and I am not in favor of this. Summer is all right after dark, but I still think of it as a bad opening act for fall.

But ... how can you listen to "Lovely Day" and not start nodding your head? Follow that up with "I'm Gonna Make You Love Me," and the prospect of a sunny day doesn't seem so bad after all. Complete the trifecta with Belew's Beatlesque ditty (even if my copy plays at a crummy 96 bps), add caffeine, and voila! Instant happiness, or at the very least a big plate of cheerful bemusement with a side of motivation.

It's also hard to remain blah when drinking the daily cuppa from a mug with a picture of a T-Rex skull on it. It's from the American Museum of Natural History in New York. Never been, but I'm going to NYC for the first time this fall for a series of writing classes and workshops. So, time permitting, I'll get to go.

In the meantime, here and here and here are pictures of other impressive dinosaurs.

Yeah, they're all meat-eaters (or fish-eaters, in one case). Face it, carnivores rock. When was the last time you saw a kid pretending to be a placid herbivore?

OK, maybe one of these. Because big horns are pretty cool, too.

Cup I: Sorting through a sort of former life

Tea: Oolong Darjeeling

Time: Late afternoon

Music: Allison Crowe, various selections: "Crayon and Ink," "Effortless," "Hallelujah," "How Long, "Immersed"

Seems a good day for solo voice and piano, this Sunday afternoon on the edge between summer and autumn, and Allison Crowe delivers the bittersweet goods. If you haven't heard her verson of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," you should. Just prepare to miss, achingly, anyone you ever loved and lost. Ever. It's available for download at her site, or watch the video here.

So, here I am in my kitchen, going through the things I hauled away from the office when I left to strike out (in the optimistic sense) on my own.

And good Lord, do I have a lot of tea. I could have started my own tea shop, I think, with the bags (large and tiny, loose and otherwise) and tins I had in my locker and my desk drawers.

Here, there's more of a storage crunch -- considering I also have a major cache in the kitchen.

And so, an idea was born: To get through the leaves, one cup per day. (Not that I'm forsaking coffee, or tea shops, or ... well, you get the idea. I'm a caffeine addict, and not inclined to 12-step that away.)

It's a discipline. But I could use a bit of that in my life. Freelance writing is going to take a lot more focus than I've known is possible, I think. And caffeine has always helped me focus.

So ... here goes.