Colonel Briggs: 2008–2025
I've lived with and cared for many animals over the years, but Colonel Briggs was the first pet I actively introduced into my life. By that I mean he was the first pet of my adult years — I chose him. When K and I started dating, she already had a cat (Das Meowie) and a dog (Sequoia). I loved them as I loved all the pets I grew up with, probably more.
Weeknotes: August 4–7, 2025
Monday, August 4
I dreamed I was in a sitcom. There was a daffy character who liked to get her hair cut at cheap department stores and carried around a little green book that was assumed to be some kind of positive affirmational text. Just before I woke up, another character went to spy on her while she sat in the department store salon. The big reveal was that the little green book was actually a gambling how-to titled Let It Bet — she had a severe gambling addiction. End of scene.
I drop off my car at the mechanic's for another pricey repair then catch a ride home from Donald. On the way back to Ypsi we stop at DJ's Bakery on Packard where I get a rainbow sprinkle doughnut to offset my automotive woes. Later, I bum a ride off my brother to go pick it back up. We listen to the Ghettobillies, an Ann Arbor band we played shows with in the last century. Our two bands had little in common except that we were both misfits with no obvious music scene partners — this and a shared sense of humor resulted in an oddball pairing and camaraderie that lasted several years.
About a half mile from the mechanic we come across a road block that wasn't there this morning. I release Jamie from his brotherly obligation and walk the rest of the way. In front of the violin shop where I worked for 15 years a fire hydrant is gushing a jet of water into the storm drain and the driveway is being dug up — there seems to be a broken water main. I have a long history of walking up and down this road which is also home to the studio where I have made every one of my albums. It's mostly industrial (S. Industrial Hwy.), but I have great affection for this part of town and particularly this road. It still feels like home.
Weeknotes: July 28–August 1, 2025
Monday, July 28
Site 41 at Brevort Lake Campgrounds. It's on the quieter, wilder side of the lake and comes with a small corridor leading to a secluded window of access framed by shady cedars and bisected by a tall white pine. After a dawn swim I lay in the hammock I've strung up next to this window and read my book. A mallard and her nearly-grown brood glide by. An eagle’s reflection slips across the water's surface. A loon makes its tremulous, watery call. Chipmunks race up and down the cedars.
A few hours later our group of nine is paddling down the Manistique River through eleven unpopulated miles of the Seney Wildlife Refuge. It's a stunning bit of wilderness, though none of us was prepared for the unrelenting swarms of deer flies that circle our heads for almost the entire trip. There's a lot of swearing and waving of hats mixed with determined nature-going. We gut it out and survive to drink whiskey around the fire later. Out on the lake the loons' calls sound like a closing ceremony. LOL — Lots of Loons.
Weeknotes: July 21–25, 2025
I love it when the teller sends your check for a little ride on the scanner. Watching it loop around the bend is my favorite part of visiting the bank. So many transactions happen invisibly, I think I'm just excited when I see something happen in front of me. Like the satisfying thump of a rubber stamp.
Twenty minutes later I'm at Barnes & Noble buying yet another copy of Ann Leckie's Ancillary Justice for a friend's birthday. I was like this with Becky Chambers' The Long Way To a Small, Angry Planet — every book lover I knew got a copy on their birthday or at Christmas. At the top of the escalator, I take a few hasty steps down, then realize I'd rather enjoy the free ride. The breadth of the store comes into focus around me and I feel some nostalgia for the pre-digital world when a big chain book store felt like the gateway to possibility.
My next stop is less inspiring — Dick's Sporting Goods, another box store in a strip mall. I've been here three times this summer and whenever I walk through the door Aerosmith's "Dream On" is playing. That can't be a coincidence. But why would this gritty 52-year-old rock ballad be a cornerstone of the Dick's playlist? Aren't there other more appropriate jock jams, even within the Aerosmith catalog? What about "Walk This Way" or even "Sweet Emotion." Does "Dream On" sell more tennis rackets?
In Saline I help K hang a couple shelves and we share a pizza. Across the street working in her garden is my old neighbor Kay. She lost her husband in the fall of 2020 while I was still living there. We all loved Doug. He was one of those affable small town neighbors — friendly, helpful, funny, a reliable presence on our street. I still send Kay a Christmas card every year, but haven't talked to her in ages. I walk over and we catch up for a while. She says she's turning 87 on Friday. I make a mental note to send her a birthday card too.
Weeknotes: July 14–18, 2025
Monday, July 14
The aggressive plant growing up the side of my house is a trumpet vine. I didn't plant it, but I've watched it multiply over the past few years until it finally produced a series of red trumpet-like blossoms. I didn't know what it was until I saw those same flowers in the community garden at Frog Island Park and finally looked it up. At least it’s native.
Through the haze of Canadian wildfire smoke I walk up to a brewpub to read my Icelandic detective novel in which the characters are suffering similarly smoky skies from a volcanic eruption. Up the gravel track through Frog Island, a man is stretching his legs on the soccer pitch and blasting Latin music from a boombox. At the other end a group of kids are sitting cross-legged on the concrete amphitheatre stage. Apart from the smog, it's a perfectly lazy summer night in Ypsilanti. I think about how happy I've been living in this town over the past four years.
Inside the brewery a man is speaking to a packed house. A keyboardist sits behind him. I order a beer and ask the bartender what's up. "It's opera night. We're actually closed for a private event, but I'll serve you." The man begins singing and I escape out the side door to sit in the little beer garden overlooking a very subdued Depot Town. Two tables away a woman is quietly crocheting some type of garment. Otherwise, the place is deserted. I read my book and people-watch. A train passes. A mezzo soprano threatens the glass window. There’s a round of applause. It’s a soothing blend of sounds.
Walking home along the ridge I notice how low the river is. Out in the thigh-deep channel a fly fisherman casts his line. To my right, down in the park, two dogs run full tilt across the fresh cut grass.
A2XA2
Although I intend to create a larger archive of posters on this website, there’s no reason I shouldn’t also include various design ephemera here in the blog. This is the full 11" x 17" poster for my upcoming show at the North Star Lounge in Ann Arbor. You might remember that I immortalized this cozy little venue in song on my last project. I have made a handful of appearances there over the past few years, always accompanied by CC. She’s sitting this one out because she’s about to become a mother — her due date is mere days after the gig . This will be my first time playing North Star on my own.
Weeknotes: July 7–11, 2025
Monday, July 7
I dreamed my air conditioner had created ice deposits all around the house. The basement staircase was encased in a narrowing chute of ice like the walls of an old freezer. There was frost on my furniture, the ceiling, and clinging in the corners like hornet's nests.
I wake in a panic in my dry room. My first action of the day is to open all the windows and let the cool morning air circulate through my world.
I broke down and bought those new running shoes, but that was yesterday. Today, I'm shopping for some new kayak gear. My deck rigging has lost its elasticity and needs replacing. I also don't have a dock line, which would have been helpful over the weekend when I was hanging on to a half-submerged log to avoid drifting out from the lee of an old oak tree on Appleton Lake. I add a heavy duty dry bag to my order as if I'm going on a real adventure instead of paddling local segments of the Huron on weeknights.
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.
Weeknotes: June 16–20, 2025
Monday, June 16
"Those metal things you smash with a hammer to secure a loop of metal cable?"
"Ah, I know what you're talking about. Ferrules?"
"Yes! Pity the ferrule."
I'm at Ypsi Hardware where they translate pedestrian into practical. I leave with two small ferrules, costing $3.10. It's the summer of thrift. I want to spiff up the yard, but I'm trying to rely on stuff that's free, cheap, or already in my possession. Last Saturday was the College Heights neighborhood yard sale, the sequel to Normal Park's where I procured the two metal fish now swaying in my garden. Held back-to-back on the first two Saturdays of June, College Heights is usually as lively as its predecessor, though it seemed to me a little diminished this year.
On the ride there I found a $20 bill on campus and took it as a good omen. I spent $2 on a lemon muffin from a platter of homemade pastries on Roosevelt Street. Next, I bought a bird feeder I didn't need for $5, and immediately regretted it. I cruised down beautiful Cambridge Street, one of my favorite little neighborhoods in town, then west to Collegewood where, leaning against a tree with a "free" sign attached, was the hammer rail of a small upright piano. Jackpot.
Unlike last week's fish, this prize could not be transported under one arm or strapped to my bike rack. I hammered out several fevered messages to nearby friends with cars and Greg was my first responder.
Tonight's goal is to mount the piano hammers along the back fence behind my fish. With a pair of old tin snips I slowly maul the end of some steel cable that was once a zipline leash system I'd bought for Islay. She hated it and after only a year it was mercifully knocked down by a large branch during an ice storm. I stuff the frayed ends of cable through my two ferrules and smash them closed, creating a wire mount on the back of the hammer casing. With these three whimsical items — the two fish and the piano guts — I now have the beginnings of a sculpture garden.
Data Loop
In January, Denise suggested that, since I am such a collector/connoisseur of personal data, I should make a data visualization project for one of my graphics courses. When I admitted I didn’t know what this was, she introduced me to a fascinating world of creative people representing data sets in the most unique ways. I was particularly bowled over by Nicholas Felton’s Feltron Reports and Giorgia Lupi and Stefanie Posavec’s irrisistably charming Dear Data project.
Midweeknotes: June 10–11, 2025
The wooded sections on either side of the tracks between the end of Railroad Street and the bridge near Forest are the nearest bits of wild, untended land. There is a small homeless encampment down the adjacent riverbank and on the other side a storage facility and neighboring weed shop. Where I grew up in Brighton, I had acres of recreational state forest directly behind my house where I could hike, explore, and forage interesting sticks or logs. Here in town, I have the overgrown railroad tangle with its choking vines and trees of heaven. I walk with my bow saw and backpack, passing an abandoned suitcase, its contents scattered mournfully among the ballast — a shoe, a couple shirts, a large hot pink bra. The usual faded beer cans and food packaging litter the margins. Further along I locate a couple downed branches that fit my needs and carry them the few blocks to my backyard.