Weeknotes: October 20–23, 2025
Monday, October 20
Through trial and error, I think I've traced the signal hum to my outboard preamp, a Golden Age Pre-73 MKII. It was recommended to me by Fred Thomas and was integral to my last two albums. Maybe it just needs a new power supply — that would be the best case scenario. More impactful is the loss of my primary condenser mic, an old Studio Projects C1 I bought in 2006 and use for almost everything I make. Like all my gear, it's a budget piece, but it has survived nearly 20 years of abuse and performed beyond all expectations. I'll likely get both items repaired, but I can't afford it right now.
So, with my two workhorses out of commission, I'm left with what I've got. I think of the old adage "the best tool is the one in front of you." I have a handful of other mics, but nothing that really fills the role that the C1 does. I could borrow a decent condenser mic from a friend, but a part of me welcomes the limitations of making do with what's on hand. That’s where creativity starts.
During rush hour, I'm running down a hill toward a busy intersection. There's a car in the northbound lane facing me with its hazard lights on and another in the southbound left turn lane, also stopped. Several people are crouched in the middle of the road picking up some type of debris while evening traffic diverts around them. I assume it's broken glass from a collision, but as I approach, I see the road is scattered with what looks like an entire box of nails. Bending to help, I ask one of the good Samaritans how they got there.
"No idea. I wondered if it was a sabotage campaign from a local tire company," she jokes.
Some of the nail heads have already been driven into the soft asphalt and I have to pry them out with my fingernails. But, just think of all the punctures we're preventing.
Weeknotes: October 13–17, 2025
Monday, October 13
I'm drinking white wine and listening to Weather Report. It feels like a cliché, but I'm not sure why. Yesterday felt like Monday Jr. I worked so hard all day and kept the momentum going into today before falling into a slump.
At 3:00 I took apart my salt lamp and replaced the cord, plug, and in-line switch, a fairly simple household repair. Nothing. It didn't work.
When a lightbulb doesn’t go on, maybe it's the universe telling you you're done for the day. I didn't listen and instead tried to finish the baffling for my studio, stapling an old burlap coffee bag around an acoustic panel. Midway through, the tack gun jammed and I couldn't fix that either. Hello, wine.
Weeknotes: September 8–12, 2025
Monday, September 8
Out my window a moving van crawls up the street delivering city-issued trash bins. Another large, unnecessary plastic object in my life. A crewman yanks a pair of them off the truck and rolls them my way. I run outside in my slippers to refuse (pun intended) one of them. Just because this address has two units doesn't mean we have space for two giant receptacles. And what do we do with our old, perfectly functional bin? It's a minor event that somehow sets a weird tone for the rest of the day.
I learn that an old friend from high school has died. She had been battling metastatic breast cancer for what seemed like an eternity, trying every experimental treatment available and enduring horrific pain while putting up a courageous public front. I've never seen anyone fight so hard just to live. Truly incredible. She entered hospice last week and I thought she'd have weeks instead of just days. You never know. Her husband is one of my oldest childhood friends, now a widower with six kids. It's going to be a rough road.