Weeknotes: April 28 – May 2, 2025
Monday, April 28
Taking a break from my A-Z listening, I put on Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, an album so famous I sometimes forget to listen to it. Growing up, Floyd was hands-down my favorite band. My early fandom coincided with their Roger Waters-less revival, and in 1988 my parents took me to see them play at the Palace of Auburn Hills. I was 11 and my neural pathways were wide open for the pomp of a big art-rock stadium show. The lasers, lights, projections, fog machines, flying pigs and airplanes, and most of all the music… I assumed that's what all rock shows would be like from that point forward. Between us, my brother and I collected all of their albums, read articles in guitar magazines, and learned everything we could about Floyd's different eras, from Syd Barrett's woeful decline into mental illness and the deep experimentation of the early-'70s on into the peak commercial period that stretched from Dark Side to the The Wall.
I'm remembering all this because I saw the new 4K cut of Pink Floyd at Pompeii – MCMLXXII on the big IMAX screen yesterday and it blew my mind all over again. When I saw the Becoming Led Zeppelin documentary at this same multiplex in February, I was one of about eight paying customers and expected something similar for Pompeii film. I was a little shocked when the theater filled almost to capacity with rowdy, excited fans for a Sunday matinee. After the slow-zoom opening shot of the band beginning "Echoes" in the empty Roman amphitheatre, it kicked into close-ups of David Gilmour and Rick Wright harmonizing and they became my favorite band all over again.
Today the neighbors are getting a new roof. There's a lot of hubbub on the block. I run five miles and officially kick off the training schedule for my next race which is at the end of summer. I prefer running in the shoulder seasons, but this one fits my schedule and I've never run it before. A new challenge.
Weeknotes: March 31 – April 4, 2025
A sick week last week. Weeknotes had a fever, but it’s on the mend.
Monday, March 31
Q1 ends with a sigh. The flu in February, then Covid in March, family health scares, and the daily horrors of the news. I'm exhausted. But, tomorrow is a new month. My energy is starting to come back, I've got a gig on Wednesday, and I'll be done with classes in just five weeks. After that, Iceland.
Today it's Scott and Amanda's birthday, siblings born seven years apart on the same day. I've been in different bands with each of them dating back to high school. On the turntable, I’ve got the first of two Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty duet albums. I pause work in late morning to test drive an outfit for the Iceland trip. By most accounts, I can expect average Icelandic temperatues in the mid-40s (F) which is the weather in Ypsilanti is today. I've got a good rain jacket I'll use as my outer shell and a zip up fleece for a mid-layer. Islay and I walk for about 45 minutes and I feel comfortable in my layers. But as much as I appreciate the tech gear, I'd be so much happier in my tattered canvas coat and jeans. I'll probably bring them too. Obsessing over what to pack for an adventure is it’s own vocation
Weeknotes: March 17–21, 2025
Monday March 17
It's Islay's 11th birthday, today. My dog and both my parents are now firmly in their senior years. Mom calls to tell me they've hired some arborists to fell a few trees in their wooded backyard. Slated for execution is Dr. Pepper, the massive white pine that grew directly outside my boyhood window. I don't remember why I named it Dr. Pepper — I was only four when we moved there — but it's become a beloved landmark and feels like an extension of the house.
When my parents started building in 1981 they spared this tree and cut a hole in the deck around it. As its circumference grew, my dad enlarged the opening until it reached a crossbeam, then he found a way around that problem too. It has been our primary shade tree and its evergreen needles have danced outside my old bedroom window for as long as I can remember. It became a popular destination for flying squirrels.
We all love Dr. Pepper, but he too is now a senior who stands perilously close to the house. My dad is afraid it will fall on the roof, an emergency that would be tough to handle. I understand it's time to say goodbye. My mom's voice caught when she told me the news. The house will look significantly altered next time I visit, but I'm grateful for the warning; I'd hate to be caught off guard.
At the brewpub a folk band is doing their best with some Irish tunes. I'm at the far end of the bar drinking an obligatory St. Patrick's Day beer. To my right is the kitchen service window where a hand periodically delivers plates of fried food onto the stainless steel shelf and rings a bell. My parents text my brother and I photos of Dr. Pepper's dismantling which are a little heartbreaking. They've found an old photo of my dad just after they bought the lot, standing next to the tree with only the foundation of our house behind him. The next image is of him today standing on the deck next to its broad stump. Everything changes. So long, Dr. Pepper.
Weeknotes: March 10–14, 2025
Monday March 10
The day rises bright and clear, an hour later than it's supposed to. Daylight Savings has begun and even though I enjoy the brighter evenings, it makes the mornings feel rushed. I put Grace Jones' Nightclubbing on the turntable and dive into Monday stuff.
CC sends me my horoscope from an app she uses:
Timothy Monger wants to push the limits today. Distract the museum guards while they kiss a painting.
I spend the afternoon with some co-workers volunteering at a local food bank. We sort giant bags of carrots and pack up about 120 boxes of dry goods. It's satisfying labor, but I wouldn't say I pushed my limits. Mostly, I just feel tired and can't figure out why. It's 65° and sunny when I get home. I sit in a camp chair in the yard finishing out my workday. To my left Islay assumes her customary position at the foot of the driveway, already in warm-weather mode.
March is a tricky month. You get warm days like this, but the sun is not itself. It's harsher and more unrelenting, glaring over dead lawns strewn with winter's detritus.
Here are some nice birds I've already seen this week:
Bald Eagle
Pileated Woodpecker
Harlequin Duck
Weeknotes: February 24–28, 2025
Monday February 24
I spend the morning listening to Robyn Hitckcock's Eye. I think it’s one of his solo benchmarks and it prompted in me an early appreciation for the merits of an acoustic album. I'm going to Kentucky to hear him play this weekend. I've seen him four other times, but it's been a while. There are few other artists whose careers I've consistently followed and admired for so long.
When I was 15 my brother took me to see Hitchcock with his erstwhile band the Egyptians in Royal Oak. They were at their brief commercial apex, having just stumbled into a minor hit with "So You Think You're in Love" from Perspex Island, an album that, until recently has remained "out of print" in the streaming world. It's not his best (Queen Elvis is my favorite), but it's the point where my adolescent self arrived in his career. I had just begun to pay attention to album credits and I remember noting the producer's name, Paul Fox; he had produced XTC's Oranges & Lemons two years prior. His name came across my radar again in the mid-'90s, helming Semisonic's first LP.
The Egyptians show we saw was in February 1992 and afterward we waited out in the cold behind the theater to ask Robyn for an autograph, which he graciously, if somewhat obscurely, gave. In black marker he inscribed on my ticket stub a capital R with a circle around it. It's still tucked under the CD tray of my copy of Element of Light.
Today, the sun is shining and the snow is melting in rivulets down both sides of the street. I listen to a grim Icelandic detective novel on my headphones. As we walk, Islay insists on hitting every snowbank, examining the dense neighborhood thaw. In the muddy driveway she stands for minutes on end, head cocked, nose gently twitching. Spring must be intense for a dog; such olfactory abundance.
In the evening CC and I rehearse a new song. Between illness, work, and school, I've been playing less often than I'd like and the act of harmonizing with another person feels especially welcome. I expect us to sound a little rusty, but we've played together for long enough now that it all comes together rather quickly.
Weeknotes: March 11–15, 2024
"How dare you." This, grumbled to my red Newgate clock as I return home from an afternoon walk. Daylight savings and poor time management have made me irritable. It's 3:30 and what have I gotten done?
The sun glinting off an old antique gum dispenser on my living room shelf was the first thing I noticed this morning. It ignited a previously-simmering desire to install a mantle mirror behind that shelf and open the room up to more light.