Weeknotes: August 26-30, 2024

Monday, August 26

"Do you know your way around here?"
"It's my first day!"

I'm comforted to see another older student struggling to find the right building on the directory map. I've just finished my first class and offer to walk her over to where I think it is. Her name is Norma and she's probably a few years older than me, using the GI Bill to finish up a degree of some sort. 

I steer her to the incorrect building and she ends up walking back to her car to drive to the other side of campus. I was trying to be helpful, but I hope I didn't make her late.

Tuesday, August 27

At 6PM a big storm comes through. I step onto the porch just as Nick is wheeling his trash can to the curb. No rain yet, just billowing gusts that toss down black walnuts like green missiles. They bang off my roof and Nick almost takes one to the head. 

We stand in the driveway, watching the clouds scud overhead. The wind has already taken down one of the dead widowmakers that's been looming over my shed for almost two years. It fell cleanly onto the grass right in front. Amazing. I hope it takes the other one down too. Nature's arborist. 

My upstairs neighbor, who is from Wichita, comes round back to get her laundry and says "classic tornado weather."

Wednesday, August 28

I'm editing some guitar and bass tracks, trying to make them sound like several players making eye contact and listening to each other in a room. They're all me, though, and none of it was recorded to a grid. It's been a tricky one. The song felt very sturdy when I wrote it last year. The basic guitar and vocal tracks came together quickly, then the arrangement plateaued for several months. I don't know why. I just couldn't make it go anywhere. I had a breakthrough yesterday and it seems to have found its shape.

Another big storm blows through. I wasn't expecting it. There's a low point in the street with poor drainage almost right in front of my house and I sit on a wooden chair watching the water crest the curb. A little red squirrel pops up onto the porch and runs right past my feet, then disappears over the side. A few seconds later he's back carrying a green walnut bigger than his head. Good core strength, I think.

Thursday, August 29

I walk around town photographing trash cans and dumpsters for an art project. “Canisters” was my initial theme, but recycle bins, clothing donation bins, mailboxes, ballot boxes, and pretty much any public receptacle will work. On my headphones Emily Nenni's throwback honky tonk plays as I prowl around surveying the city's back alleys and rear exits. 

Once you start paying attention, you realize there's not a lot of color variance among these receptacles. Mostly blues, browns, and greens; earthy colors that blend into the cityscape. Every now and then you find a brightly colored one and it really pops. There's an industrial 20 yard dumpster at the edge of a brownfield that pulls me into its orbit. It's bright yellow and gleaming in the late evening sun.

In Depot Town the antique cars are out, a weekly event I never remember until I stumble onto it. I've been in my secret trash world for an hour and the sudden pageantry of Americana is jarring. The Four Seasons' "Sherry" blasts over a P.A. set up in the middle of the street. The low grumble of sports car engines and the taco truck's sputtering generator add to the din.

I was going to get a beer somewhere, but I'd rather just have one in my yard.

Friday, August 30

"Welcome to Got Burger, can I take your order?"
It's a guy with a clipboard under a white pop-up tent outside Lowe's. There's no grill or food, just a plastic folding table. It's not Got Burger. He's just been out in the heat of the parking lot all day trying to sign people up for some sort of promotion. "Can you tell I'm bored?," he asks as I'm walking to my car lugging a new toilet seat. 

Later, I wonder why he chose Got Burger -- a local joint near my house -- and not some major, more recognizable burger chain. It's so specific and not even a good joke. The whole day feels haphazard. I email with some publicists, listen to Gillian Welch and David Rawlings, install the toilet seat, and practice for a gig. 

After driving a neighbor to the airport, I wait for a couple slices at my neighborhood pizzeria and knock out the day's Wordle. KNAVE. I immediately think of Jethro Tull.