Weeknotes: August 10–14, 2026
Monday, August 10
The strobe flicker of pre-dawn lightning tattoos the bedroom wall. Esteban gives a small cry from the foot of the bed. I welcome the stormy morning and put on Nina Nastasia's The Blackened Air. While its gothic melancholia soothes the kitchen, I brew coffee and gaze out into the still-dark morning.
Before work, I play my guitar to see if anything is in there. I write a couple lines to something simple in G Major, but it feels too straightforward and vulnerable. Where is my cape of abstraction?
Weeknotes: July 6–10, 2026
Monday, July 6
The downtown library is crowded with other refugees charging devices and working on laptops. I am one of nearly 350,000 DTE Energy customers who lost power during Friday night's storm. At the time, I was 200 miles away in Benzie County, setting up for a gig after two nights of camping on the Leelanau Peninsula. The weather up there was lovely.
Today, the downed power line at the end of my block is still sparking and smoking on the curb, cordoned off by yellow emergency tape, but otherwise unbothered since its explosion almost three days ago. It's like a less-endearing Neil the Seal: troublesome, potentially lethal, but exciting to watch.
Last night, Nick and I drank scotch on a dark porch a few houses down, chatting with neighbors who claim to have heard that DTE were recruiting French-Canadian electrical workers from across the border. Makes sense that they’d seek reinforcement, but the French-Canadian part seems dubious — were none available from Ontario? My mind forms an image of a lively Québécois lumber camp popping up on our street, mingling aromas of woodsmoke and maple syrup as flannelled men scurry up the poles, shouting instructions in French.
It’s late afternoon and I'm dozing on the bed, unaware my electricity has just been restored. Nick sends a text from next door: They did it!!! Ooohhhh, Cannnnnn-ada! I don't know who is actually responsible, but I'm happy to give our Northern neighbors credit.