Weeknotes: March 23–27, 2026
Monday, March 23
I awaken from a dream about living in a wall tent dormitory with an unexplained desire to listen to Scott Walker. I put Scott 3 into the CD player and brew coffee to the discordant strings of "It's Raining Today."
In 1996, my brother and I were obsessed with Razor & Tie's Scott Walker anthology of the same name. I remember the two of us sitting in my car outside the Fisher Building in Detroit, grooving to "The Old Man's Back Again," before taking the elevator up to the studios of WJR-AM. We were musical guests on The Mitch Albom Show, an honor that involved being completely ignored by the two co-hosts and frantically self-editing about 20 seconds of live performance into the gaps after commercial breaks. We never met Mitch, who was broadcasting from the East Coast that day. After one of the breaks he made fun of my falsetto which I admittedly overused back then. I still think of this every time I see one of his books in a grocery store checkout lane.
All day I'm beset by abstract weariness. I yawn self-consciously through my morning class and subsequent errands. At the vet I pick up a prescription for Trazodone, hoping it might curtail Islay's destructive chewing. I suspect it’s just boredom, but I haven’t ruled out seperation anxiety. Bolstered by two naps, I work steadily all afternoon and through most of the evening, eyeing bedtime as my just reward. When I finally turn in, I revive a credo from a few years ago and say out loud "my favorite part of the day is right now."
Weeknotes: March 16–20, 2026
For this week only, It This Something? is reimagined as a zine! An assignment for my Publication Design class prompted this exercise which, apart from scanning the end results, required no computers or electronic devices of any kind. I spent a very pleasant Saturday morning with my Olympia manual typewriter, Polaroid Sun 660, date stamp, X-Acto knife, cutting mat, rubber cement, a couple pens, and my overburdened paper morgue. It was quick and messy, and therefore well outside my comfort zone. Many thanks to my instructor Ingrid Ankerson for fostering the opportunity and to my friend Nick Azzaro for encouraging me not to bail on it when I was about to pivot to something different. I also made a classic black and white photocopied edition, but opted to scan the original version for this post.
Weeknotes: March 9–13, 2026
Monday, March 9
Esteban reclines on a peninsula of sunlight, his black fur illuminated and glossy. I pet him the length of his body and remember someone once telling me this reminds a cat of being groomed by its mother. Suddenly, it seems strange not to know anything at all about my pets' parentage. When we found Esteban, he was a feral kitten surviving in a drainage ditch outside K's office.
It was about a year after we adopted Islay, the runt of a litter of puppies being trampled over by her siblings in a crate at a Tractor Supply store. In my mind, their stories begin with me — typical human arrogance. Of course they both had mothers who cleaned and fed them until circumstances brought them into my life. How strange to call myself the parent of these wonderful little beings.
The temperature rises into the low 70s — a healing balm. After my run, I sit on the porch finishing Heather Rose's book, The Museum of Modern Love.
The purple house across the street is up for sale. I walked through it during a weekend open house, unlocking new rooms in the mental map of my surroundings. It's much more spacious than I expected. I wish I could afford to buy it — everything is so expensive right now.
I linger outside until the light begins to fade, listening to the sounds of my neighborhood: the see-saw tones of the bus door opening a block away, an eastbound train, a seagull calling over the river.
Weeknotes: March 2–6, 2026
Monday, March 2
The ancient editorial program we use for work is almost unusable this morning. We're in the process of beta-testing its successor, but right now I'm caught in the drying amber of the original's slow decline. While the next entry on my screen loads, I try to stay productive in other arenas, scheduling a band practice on my phone, using a different computer to send emails and design a logo. It's an ineffective and exhausting workflow; nothing gets done as well as it should.
Outside, the sun glares over bleached lawns — March's signature look. I take Islay for a walk and think about Jonathan Richman twirling his guitar and dancing snake-hipped at the edge of the Vickers Theater stage. On Saturday, Greg and I drove three hours across the state to the little town of Three Oaks to hear him play. At 74, Richman still seems so youthful and vibrant, a rare specimen of preserved health and creative spirit. I've always loved his self-titled 1989 record and of course the first Modern Lovers album. I figured he would be good live, but I had no idea how special and whimsical it would be. Halfway through the first song, I thought to myself: this is one of the greatest performances I have ever seen.
Before and after the show, Greg and I set up shop at the Tom Cat Tavern, just down the block. At breakfast the next morning, I realized I'd left behind my favorite woolen scarf, gifted to me by friends after their visit to Ireland. When we got back home to Ypsi, I called the Tom Cat and confirmed proof of life. Unless I can convince them to mail it back to me, I have another three hour road trip in my future.
At six o' clock I go for a run through town and listen to Alvvays. Molly Rankin's voice sounds like a beam of light. Behind the old Michigan Ladder Company building the moon rises, pale and full.
Weeknotes: February 2–6, 2026
Monday, February 2
"I hate how good it is."
I just poured two fingers of Kirkland Signature Islay Malt Whisky, a birthday gift from my brother, who misses no opportunity to troll me for my aversion to Costco.
"Is it ok?"
"It's legit Islay malt… tastes like Laphroig."
"Put it in a different bottle."
"No, I will participate in your cult, albeit second hand."
I'm also wearing the Costco Wholesale sweatshirt he got me for Christmas two years ago — I won't be seen in public wearing it, but I loathe to admit it's become my preferred house hoodie.
I don't understand the Costco obsession so many of my friends have. They'll spend 30 minutes comparing notes about the impressive blocks of cheese, bulk frozen ravioli, or in this case, repackaged booze they managed to score, all of it emblazoned with that godawful black and red logo. Am I just a grump? I appreciate a bargain and I know they have a decent reputation, but being inside a Costco is an aesthetic nightmare. It makes me feel 20 years older.
Maybe I will pull out my decanter after all, and give this good whisky the home it deserves.
Weeknotes: January 19–23, 2026
Monday, January 19
I dream intensely, though when I wake, I can't remember any details. While the dark recedes, I stand with my coffee at the window, watching a snow squall whip down the street. Today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day — no work or school, though I end up devoting time to both.
In the afternoon, I drive into town to buy ink cartridges for my printer. Arctic winds shoulder my little car as I try to stay in my lane amid the blowing snow. Minutes later, sunlight pierces my dirty windshield — it's a day of extremes.
Weeknotes: December 8–12, 2025
On top of my day job, schoolwork, and the countless creative tasks I assign myself every year, I’ve picked up a side hustle as a Door Dash driver to earn some extra holiday cash. It’s a lot, but it has helped me pay off a few unexpected bills and offered some security I need right now. A few nights ago, I was navigating up an icy path, delivering some sandwiches to Glencoe Hills Apartments, when a woman stopped me. “Hey. Slow down.”
Her voice barely registered. “What?”
She looked me in the eyes. “Slow down. You’re gonna get there.”
I paused, mumbled a thank you, then hustled forth to complete my delivery. Later in the week, as I was careening toward year-end burnout, I thought again about the encounter. Maybe she’s just a keen observer of body language, but something about my energy must have seemed manic enough for her to flag me down.
As we tumble into the heart of the holidays, it’s a good reminder to take a breath and allow yourself a little grace. I’ve got some leave coming up and I’m going to hit pause on Weeknotes for the rest of the year. If the mood strikes me, I may toss up a bit of miscellany, but otherwise, I’ll see you in 2026. Cheers! -TM
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 22–26, 2025
Monday, September 22
I'm listening to the Tannahhill Weavers, a Scottish folk band who include a glossary of pronunciations and Scottish words on their lyrics sheets.
Some are logical:
Dinnae = don't know
Gane = gone
Tae - to
Twa = two
Wasnae = was not
Some less so:
Ken = know
Maun = may
Muckle = big
Trews = tartan trousers
Yin = one
I've loved this band since I first heard them on a Rykodisc compilation sometime around 1990. They were my gateway to Celtic music.
Out my office window the ground's quiet applause welcomes rain for the first time in a month. Later, at the pet store, the ceiling has sprung a leak and two dog pools have been pulled off a nearby shelf to catch it. On the equinox the world is liquid again.
Weeknotes: August 11–15, 2025
Monday, August 11
I didn't expect to grieve so heavily for Briggs. I hadn't lived with him for four years when he died, but his passing stirred up emotions I didn't realize I'd been harboring. My brother says "cats are different, they span multiple eras." He's right. Briggs was the last connection to several different parts of my life.
This morning I'm a little more myself. I listen to Robert Shaw Chorale's ridiculous, but transcendent Sea Shanties album, then Jules Shear's debut. Next up is Joan Shelley's beautiful self-titled album from 2017. I get halfway through the first song then remove it from the platter. Too sad.
The past couple of nights I've found unexpected comfort watching social media clips of the Oasis reunion tour. They were never a band I cared about. I wasn't into the songs and the constant in-fighting and drama always put me off. Now, I’m drawn to the sense of bonhomie surrounding this tour. Massive stadiums drunk on lager and nostalgia, shouting out every word, the Gallaghers seemingly getting on well. I open my Instagram feed to videos of Liam balancing a tambourine atop his bucket hat and Noel in a button-up polo shirt looking like a weekend dad-rocker. I’m oddly moved by all of it. Are Oasis our saviors?
Weeknotes: June 30 – July 4, 2025
Monday, June 30
The door whispers closed and I am entombed in a lobby of implied wealth. Its forest green rug, dark wood paneling, and brass fixtures signal the superiority of this bank branch over the others I usually visit. Through a second door I emerge to the faint strains of "Space Oddity." The immaculate teller compliments my fragrance and I stand a couple inches taller. I'm just a guy in a baseball cap and concert t-shirt depositing my weekend gig money, but a little theater goes a long way. I carry this confidence into subsequent transactions with the clerk at World Market and the young mechanic who runs the engine code on my 13 year old Hyundai.
Weeknotes: June 23–27, 2025
Monday, June 23
It's a Field Notes field trip. Those who know me know of my love for this brand and their wondrous little notebooks which I carry with me everywhere I go. For years I've wanted to make a pilgrimage to their Chicago headquarters and today is my day. They are having an open house ahead of their “first, and likely only” film festival tonight at the Music Box Theatre and I've convinced Greg to join me on this road trip which kicked off yesterday at Wrigley Field. The Cubs lost in a 6-14 home run derby against Seattle. The heat was brutal, but it was a bucket list venue for both of us, as was the Sunday night jazz show at the Green Mill.
I open the Futura-branded black metal door at 401 Racine and am immediately greeted by owner Jim Coudal. I think I expected a brisker turnout of fellow Field Nuts, but am pleasantly surprised by the casual scene. After browsing some rarity editions, we hang out with Field Notes creator Aaron Draplin, a fellow Michigander now based in Portland, Oregon. I met him once before back in February when he did a demo at the Ann Arbor District Library. It turned out he was a Great Lakes Myth Society fan, so Greg and I present him with one of our dwindling vinyl copies of Compass Rose Bouquet. His mom, who lives not far from my own parents, is also there and we chat with her about politics and our favorite Northern Michigan spots. I also meet Bryan Bedell, a fellow music head and founder of the Vespa Club of Chicago, who is also one of Field Notes' designers. It's all so warm and convivial and I leave with an even greater affection for the company.
At the film festival later that night, they screen 31 of the short films they've made to launch their quarterly special editions. The room is lively and I feel at home among these like minded enthusiasts of esoterica. Aaron and Jim introduce the first set of films, many of which I've already seen as part of their newsletter announcements over the years. During intermission Bryan and filmmaker Steve Delahoyde crack jokes, then invite the 400+ attendees to join them at a nearby bar afterward. Having graciously enjoyed some facetime with them earlier, we decline and have a low-key nightcap at the Gman Tavern a few blocks east.