Weeknotes: April 20–24, 2026
Monday, April 20
For the second year in a row, Kenyan runners Sharon Lokedi and John Korir win their divisions at the Boston Marathon. Korir sets a new course record at 2:01:52. I do the math — that's a 4:39 pace, four minutes faster than my best marathon effort. Astounding!
Since the Tigers are in Boston, they play the annual Patriots' Day morning game at Fenway, losing to the Red Sox, 8–6. I usually try to log a run of my own on Marathon Monday, but the best I can manage is a brisk evening walk. I put on my dad's old Air Force field jacket and ramble through town, up past the water tower, then loop back home through campus.
This jacket has hung in my parents' closet since my dad completed his military service in the early-'70s. I've seen old photos of him in it, but my strongest memories are of my brother wearing it during his brief teenage delinquent period.
I noticed it in the hall closet while visiting my parents on Saturday and asked if I could take it home. "As long as you respect it," was my dad's reply. A day later, I showed it to my brother. "Is that the coat I went to jail in?"
Tuesday, April 21
The nightmare is over — I have completed my online math course, “satisfying” my general education requirement. There was nothing satisfying about it. Forcing myself to give a damn about quadratic functions and Venn diagrams was hard enough, but doing so amid the doomy political chaos of this past winter was excruciating. Most days, I just felt irritable and mean. And yet, I couldn't allow myself to phone it in. I sat at my desk every morning and studied my lessons, sometimes throwing embarrassing little tantrums and shouting at my laptop, but getting it done. In the end, I aced the final exam and got an A in the class. Apologies to my friends who listened to me complain for the past four months and especially to Islay and Esteban who had to put up with me around the house.
Later, I redirect my evening run through Normal Park to deliver a ridiculous birthday card I made for my nephew cat Bode, who is 16. I stay long enough to admire his new outdoor catio, then resume my regular route downtown. On South Prospect I'm intercepted by a handsome little dog in a sweater named Julio who insists on smelling my legs for a good minute. His owner and I chat about our preferred running shoes (Hokas), then I'm off again into the pollinated twilight.
Wednesday, April 22
My math course may be finished, but I still have two more weeks of Publication Design. I have nothing but praise for this class — it was the counterbalance that saved my sanity. I bike to campus, an easy, but invigorating 30 minute commute. Why haven't I been doing this all along?
Tonight, Greg is playing a rare solo set on a bill with two other friends. Walking up to the club, I'm lured by the lilac tree in front of Solidarity House. Its purple blooms are like aromatic fireworks in the close evening sky. I smile at a man on the corner as I cross the street. Behind me, I hear him grumble to his partner "Shit, we're gonna miss the bus."
Thursday, April 23
For lunch, I dress up a tin of sardines with white beans, red onion, arugula, and mayo on a toasted baguette. I know tinned fish are having a cultural moment, but I always feel like an old man when I eat sardines. When I was young, they were the meal of cartoon hobos and cats.
While I eat, I listen to Georges Delerue's sweeping, romantic score to Joe vs. the Volcano. I was 15 when I rented the VHS tape from Video Watch near the Brighton Mall. It blew my brain wide open — a formative film which, along with Steve Martin's L.A. Story, set the tone for my teenage years. I've seen it so many times I could recite the entire script to its musical cues.
(Spanish guitar strums, Joe and DeDe in a candlelit restaurant…)
"I bribed them to sing a song that would drive us insane and make our hearts swell and burst."
After an evening bike ride, I drink a gin and tonic on the porch. Overhead, bees trickle in and out of the rusting metal fish sculpture hanging from the ceiling. How many are in there and how long before I have to worry about them?
Friday, April 24
At the intersection outside Walgreen's, I roll down the window and bop my head to the wonky bass line of "Fabienk." Most viral trends pass me by, but I find Angine de Poitrine irresistible. It's rare something so original rises above the slop to flirt with the mainstream. The polka-dot masks, Dada shenanigans, triangle worship, and wild micro-tonal grooves are just delightful. It's been a tough year and we could all use some joy. Klek and Khn, our unlikely unifiers.
At night I play a short acoustic set at the Gaelic League of Detroit to open the Corktown Music Festival. I'm followed by a troupe of Irish step dancers wearing strange blue and black uniforms. They look like they just beamed down from the USS Enterprise.