I spent the fall casting bronze in California where I happily traded the honkstorm on 8th Avenue for a daily chorus of sea lions. 300 of these whiskered buskers assembled beneath the boardwalk each morning, barking melodiously as I rode my rusty cruiser past the pier. After sunset, amped-up pajama-clad, post-punk-neo-fusion-funk rock bands provided spirited exit music for the breezy ride home through downtown Santa Cruz…