Forest Avenue Bridge: 2025
There’s a white mark — possibly the residual adhesive from an old sticker — atop the metal rail of the Forest Avenue Bridge. It’s dead center on the downriver side, just above what looks like some kind of environmental tracker or river camera. That white mark is where I take this photo from.
Weeknotes: December 8–12, 2025
On top of my day job, schoolwork, and the countless creative tasks I assign myself every year, I’ve picked up a side hustle as a Door Dash driver to earn some extra holiday cash. It’s a lot, but it has helped me pay off a few unexpected bills and offered some security I need right now. A few nights ago, I was navigating up an icy path, delivering some sandwiches to Glencoe Hills Apartments, when a woman stopped me. “Hey. Slow down.”
Her voice barely registered. “What?”
She looked me in the eyes. “Slow down. You’re gonna get there.”
I paused, mumbled a thank you, then hustled forth to complete my delivery. Later in the week, as I was careening toward year-end burnout, I thought again about the encounter. Maybe she’s just a keen observer of body language, but something about my energy must have seemed manic enough for her to flag me down.
As we tumble into the heart of the holidays, it’s a good reminder to take a breath and allow yourself a little grace. I’ve got some leave coming up and I’m going to hit pause on Weeknotes for the rest of the year. If the mood strikes me, I may toss up a bit of miscellany, but otherwise, I’ll see you in 2026. Cheers! -TM
Weeknotes: December 1–5, 2025
Monday, December 1
I don't remember thinking of Gremlins as a Christmas movie. Rewatching it now, the first thing I notice is that it was obviously filmed in California, and that the small town of Kingston Falls looks a lot like another fictional '80s town. Apparently, Back To the Future was also filmed on Universal's Courthouse Square backlot. Kingston Falls is Hill Valley, but coated in a layer of fake snow.
As a kid, I didn't question the set design — I just wanted to see Stripe plow the grumpy WWII dude over with his own tractor. I also didn't question why Phoebe Cates stuck around at Dorry's Tavern to serve all the bad gremlins alcohol and smokes — I just laughed at them getting drunk and doing dumb human things like playing cards and singing along to Snow White. Now, though… I’m afraid Gremlins just isn't very believable.
Weeknotes: November 24–28, 2025
Monday, November 24
At Family Chicken, I pick up an order of fried gizzards which stinks up my car during the last delivery of the night. I'm a few days into a new holiday side hustle as a Door Dash driver. Usually, I play a couple gigs to offset holiday expenses, but nothing materialized this year. It doesn't pay much, but I can generate as much work as I need. I’m also witnessing will signings for a friend’s law practice. Work is work, and I’m happy to get it. Everything is expensive right now and I don't want to end the year in the red.
Weeknotes: Rarities & B-Sides, Vol. 1
Early in the week, I fell behind and never caught back up. That’s okay — it’s a busy time of year. In lieu of this week’s notes, I’ve assembled a small anthology of unpublished pieces from previously-abandoned weeks. There are a couple from 2024 which revisit both the Paris Olympics and the run-up to the election, as well as a post from a few months ago, just before school started. I’ve also added my contribution to an All Music feature in which my fellow pop editors and I discuss classic albums we wish we’d heard sooner. Lastly, there are a few stray observations from the past week. It’s nice to break format every now and then. Enjoy the odds and sods!
Weeknotes: November 10–14, 2025
Monday, November 10
I'm with Neil at Fox Science Preserve, a former gravel pit in Scio Township known for its geological wonders. Punctuating the scrubby landscape are hulking glacial boulders of granite, tillite, gneiss, and limestone, many of them bearing 350 million-year-old fossils. At work, Neil and I write about rock music, but apparantly he is also a "rock" guy. I've come into rockdom more recently, surprising myself with how much I've enjoyed my Geology of the National Parks and Monuments class at the local community college. The 12 week course ends this week — tomorrow evening I'll take my final exam and test my knowledge of volcanism and continental collisions.
Weeknotes: November 3–7, 2025
Monday, November 3
It's hard sometimes to play fast, but we are a rhythmic species — if you practice enough, a fast part usually comes together nicely, at least in my experience. I think it's much tougher to play slowly. When there is more space between the beats, you have nowhere to hide — each note carries more weight and a whole menu of nuance opens up.
I've been trying to make some music that is very minimalist with few elements and plenty of negative space. The piece I'm working on is for two fingerpicked guitars, one playing a repeated chord pattern at a relaxed tempo and the other playing a very deliberate single note lead melody. More often than not, this is the kind of music I listen to around the house: sparse Nordic jazz records from ECM, solo acoustic guitar albums, ambient synth music, etc.
Most of the music I've released has been densely-arranged songwriter pop with clever arrangements, layered harmonies, and lots of percussion. I will make more of that, but I also want to challenge myself to see if I can scale down and still keep it interesting. It's making me a better, or at least a more thoughtful guitarist. Because there are no vocals and just one or two instruments, I'm thinking very hard about every note and asking questions like:
What part of my finger yields the best tone for this note?
If I can't finish this part today, will my fingernails be too long and sound slightly different tomorrow?
How long should I let these overtones ring?
Do I slide up to this note or hit it dead on?
A bit of vibrato heading into the rest?
Weeknotes: October 27–31, 2025
Monday, October 27
Outside the pub the evening sky is lavender. A crew of runners, all in costume, piles up at the crosswalk, laughing and jostling on a Halloween fun run. I think I'll take the long way home.
At the bend on Norris I slip through the chain fence and walk past the old depot. To my left a man is chasing his laughing son down the hill on Maple Street. Everywhere, people are smiling. I am too. It's late October and I've been reading Ray Bradbury. Here's a gem from his introduction to the 1999 edition of The October Country:
Skeletons are wondrous ramshackle items that birth themselves when the humans they wore go away.
Ray loved skeletons. I wonder if his is glad to be unburdened of its mortal obligation.
Much of Depot Town is closed on Monday. With its silent barber shop, old brick facades, and ornate central clock, it resembles Green Town, Illinois, the fictional midwestern town where Bradbury set masterpieces like Dandelion Wine and Something Wicked This Way Comes.
At Schultz Outfitters I cross the street and disappear down the stairwell into Frog Island Park. Out on the pitch a group of friends are playing a pickup soccer game — coats are scattered across the terraced bleachers. A brown and white dog lays curled up, watching its human play. On the other side of the path the embankment leads down to the river. The stone firepit, built on the dry riverbed during summer’s drought, has been reclaimed by the rising water.
At the Forest Street bridge I lean over the rail to take my favorite photo. A man passing on the sidewalk says "I love that shot too." Another passerby comments "this summer was the lowest I've ever seen the river. I was worried about fish getting trapped in shallow pools."
"But look at it now," I say.
Weeknotes: October 20–23, 2025
Monday, October 20
Through trial and error, I think I've traced the signal hum to my outboard preamp, a Golden Age Pre-73 MKII. It was recommended to me by Fred Thomas and was integral to my last two albums. Maybe it just needs a new power supply — that would be the best case scenario. More impactful is the loss of my primary condenser mic, an old Studio Projects C1 I bought in 2006 and use for almost everything I make. Like all my gear, it's a budget piece, but it has survived nearly 20 years of abuse and performed beyond all expectations. I'll likely get both items repaired, but I can't afford it right now.
So, with my two workhorses out of commission, I'm left with what I've got. I think of the old adage "the best tool is the one in front of you." I have a handful of other mics, but nothing that really fills the role that the C1 does. I could borrow a decent condenser mic from a friend, but a part of me welcomes the limitations of making do with what's on hand. That’s where creativity starts.
During rush hour, I'm running down a hill toward a busy intersection. There's a car in the northbound lane facing me with its hazard lights on and another in the southbound left turn lane, also stopped. Several people are crouched in the middle of the road picking up some type of debris while evening traffic diverts around them. I assume it's broken glass from a collision, but as I approach, I see the road is scattered with what looks like an entire box of nails. Bending to help, I ask one of the good Samaritans how they got there.
"No idea. I wondered if it was a sabotage campaign from a local tire company," she jokes.
Some of the nail heads have already been driven into the soft asphalt and I have to pry them out with my fingernails. But, just think of all the punctures we're preventing.
Weeknotes: October 13–17, 2025
Monday, October 13
I'm drinking white wine and listening to Weather Report. It feels like a cliché, but I'm not sure why. Yesterday felt like Monday Jr. I worked so hard all day and kept the momentum going into today before falling into a slump.
At 3:00 I took apart my salt lamp and replaced the cord, plug, and in-line switch, a fairly simple household repair. Nothing. It didn't work.
When a lightbulb doesn’t go on, maybe it's the universe telling you you're done for the day. I didn't listen and instead tried to finish the baffling for my studio, stapling an old burlap coffee bag around an acoustic panel. Midway through, the tack gun jammed and I couldn't fix that either. Hello, wine.
Weeknotes: October 6–11, 2025
Monday, October 6
"Sophia, bring it back to starboard, you're too close to that kayak! Sorry, kayak."
I wave at the coxswain — Sophia's oar wasn't even close. I'm finishing an evening paddle, upriver from Argo Livery, almost, but not quite to Barton Dam, then back past Bandemer, the Huron's regional rowing hub. I figured I might run into some river traffic, but didn't expect to share this segment with eight full crews and their launch boats. At a wide bend, about a half hour upriver, I tucked into some reeds and enjoyed a beer while the university and high school crews rowed noisily by. The season is starting to fade, but the weather tonight is gorgeous. Maybe I'll still have time for a couple more paddles before winter comes.
Back at Argo, a string band has set up under the pavilion. When I put in, a man was tuning a double bass, but now they are eight or nine strong with fiddles, mandolin, a dobro, and several guitars. I dock to "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" and sing along quietly while stowing my gear.
Weeknotes: September 20 – October 3, 2025
Monday, September 29
I'm in a blue jeans drought. I have a couple pairs I feel okay in, but neither of them is my favorite. When the world is in chaos, you have to have at least one pair of jeans you love.
After work I carve a soap dish from a hunk of cedar fence plank in my shed. I've obsessed over buying a soap dish for weeks, but keep putting it off. I blame the specific dimensions of my sink, but really I'm just indecisive and spend too much time deliberating over small stuff in order to avoid the big stuff. Once again, a bit of DIY effort saves the day.