Monday, October 19
In class, we learn about William Beaumont, the "Father of Gastric Physiology." In 1822, on Mackinac Island, an American Fur Company employee named Alexis St. Martin was accidentally shot in the gut with a shotgun at close range. He survived, but with a hole in his stomach (a fistula), through which his doctor (Beaumont) was able to observe and research the digestion process. No longer able to work for the Fur Company, St. Martin was hired as Beaumont's servant and medical test subject. According to Beaumont's Wikipedia page:
Most of the experiments were conducted by tying a piece of food to a string and inserting it through the hole into the stomach. Every few hours, Beaumont would remove the food and observe how well it had been digested.
Before this part of the lecture, my attention was fleeting, but now that we're talking about creepy 19th century surgical experiments, I'm all in.
Tuesday, October 20
Glancing over my classmate's shoulder, I accidentally catch them Googling "Demon Summoning." We're in the video lab pitching ideas for our final film projects. I hope it’s related.
I have so much work to do after class, but only get a little bit done before heading out to Ferndale to see my amp tech. My old Ampeg Reverberocket shorted out during rehearsal on Sunday and needs attention ASAP. I avoid rush hour by leaving at 3 p.m., but it still takes an hour to get there. Tom lets the amp run for about 15 minutes while I hang out and look at guitars. There are some beautiful D'Angelico archtops, but I'm drawn to a funky Gibson M-III from the early '90s and a pointy black Ibanez with white pickups. Maybe I need a shredder.
When my Ampeg's illness doesn't reveal itself, I leave it with Tom and drive up the road to buy groceries at Western Market, then drink an overpriced margarita at a bar on Woodward. When I return to the guitar shop an hour later, the problem has been traced to the circuit board, though a solution will take some time. I guess I have another trip to Ferndale in my future.
I exit I-275 at Michigan Ave. in Canton. At the end of the ramp, a man in a wheelchair is strumming an acoustic guitar, "Homeless Vet" written on a piece of cardboard at his feet. I've never seen anyone busking at an exit ramp. I'm in the opposite lane, separated by traffic, but I consider darting out of my car to give him some cash. Before I can act, the light turns green.
Wednesday, October 21
Over an awkward video call, my mentor and Pro Tools guru Geoff tries to teach me how to build a tempo map around an arpeggiated synth track. I've been using this program for 25 years, offsetting my technical limitations with enough imagination to muddle through.
Thursday, October 22
At work, I go through a data list separating AI-generated musical entities from fictional characters (think Xania Monet vs. Josie and the Pussycats). It's a simple enough task, but after an hour of flagging dozens of artificial country and gospel acts, I feel morally compromised, like I need to wash my soul out.
After the sun goes down, I stand at the back door and catch a brief foretaste of winter. A gust of cold air sends my mind back to a February night at my hometown ski hill. I'm about 14, riding the green lift, snowboard dangling from my right foot, at peace in my suburban winter world. The floodlit hill, mechanical sounds of the lift, and falling snow make me think pleasantly of detergent. This association stays with me for the rest of my life; whenever I smell fresh snow, I think of cleanliness and peace.
Friday, October 23
I've taken the day off work to record music, and from 8:30 a.m. until around 3 p.m., that's pretty much all I do. Ample studio time is a luxury I took for granted when my life wasn't so busy. During a break, I drive over to Greg's house and borrow Fido's snare, which has been set up in the living room since our rehearsal last weekend. My own drums have been in storage since 2021. I pull my wire brushes out of my seldom-used stick bag and find the lubricant has begun leaking from the shafts. My hands are covered in black grease as I struggle to mimic a trip-hop beat. The tempo map will come in handy here.
