Weeknotes: June 17-21, 2024
Monday, June 17
The start of my marathon training schedule coincides with a miserable heat wave. It's early morning runs or none at all. I'd expected the work on the Spring St. Bridge to be a summer-long endeavor, but as I'm about to make my detour, I see cars crossing in both lanes. To my left is a dirt lot that alternately serves as a staging area for construction crews and a depot for piles of compost in the summer. As I pass, a large earth mover uses its basket to push an aluminum rowboat across its expanse. The bridge looks unchanged; I'm not even sure what they repaired.
Although it's good news for this leg of my run, my satisfaction is tempered by the knowledge that they have already closed off the LeForge Bridge, which I cross even more frequently. LeForge is my gateway out of town, on foot or by car, and also offers easiest access to the river. Just east of the Pen Dam, it's where I put my kayak in. I've lived in river towns before, but never been so affected by their crossings as I am here.
Tuesday, June 18
My dream is a classic tale of horror, almost a cliché. I've stumbled upon an ancient stone tiki mask and against grave warnings about its mystical power proceed to bring it to life and unlock a curse. The crude mask clicks into a box-like casing and as I'm carrying it down a windy autumn hill, the air whistles across its orifices. Suddenly, I feel a vibration as clockwork mechanisms behind the mask's eyes start to spin, giving it an unruly, gyroscopic weight. I know there's no going back and that once activated, its powers cannot be reversed.
At the hardware store a pack of clothespins is $8.99. I go over to Dollar Tree to buy them for a dollar. The man in front of me pays the clerk in exact change and with a sense of wonder she exclaims he's the third customer in a row to do so. I can't be the one to break her lucky streak. My total comes to $1.33. I pull a single out of my wallet and find exactly $0.32 in my pocket, no more. Our eyes meet. She reaches down below the register and fishes a penny out of her purse. We agree it counts, even with her assistance. Four in a row! I step out into the punishing humidity, feeling as though I've done a good deed for someone.
Wednesday, June 19
The sunflowers my mom gave me yesterday didn't last two hours in the garden before a squirrel ate them down to stems. Today I catch him digging up the gladiolus. Fucker. I spray him with the hose as he retreats across the fencetop, red tail flying like a revolutionary flag. I've become Farmer McGregor. Wasn't I taking a break from my bullshit?
Later, I drive out to Ferndale and meet up with Chad. We sit in his garage studio and pick up our ongoing conversation about making and promoting music in our 40s which has become very philosophical. His son shows us a couple soccer tricks in the driveway, then we walk up the street to go see Mdou Moctar play at a local club. A Seattle artist named J.R.C.G. opens with a set of brutalist jazz-rock, slugging his drums and shouting into an old EV mic on a straight stand between his legs. His amoebic six-piece band all look like they're holding on by their fingernails. It's harsh and extreme, but I'm into it. The kick drum leaves a dent in my sternum.
By contrast, Moctar and his Nigerien quartet are more nuanced and virtuosic in their presentation. A disarming beatific smile on his face, he stands plucking his white Strat between two towering Orange guitar cabs, running up and down the neck with those thrilling pentatonic desert blues scales. The audience is a weird mix of older discerning musos, a few errant jam band types, and aggressively earnest normcore guys who look like David Cross in curly John Oates wigs. The music is incredible and I've never seen such a light show at this venue. When did the Magic Bag get lasers?
Thursday, June 20
A stutter and then BAM! Islay comes running in the back door, trembling on her lead. There’s a commotion in the parking lot behind the fence as staffers pour out, like me, wondering what happened. I follow the sirens a couple blocks away to where two transformers have blown, knocking out power for the entire neighborhood and all of campus. It’s about 92° F outside with 85% humidity. As my house warms I spring into action, luring Islay out from under the bed and driving her and the contents of my refrigerator out to my parents' home 20 miles north of here.
It's a strange day and I feel unmoored for the duration of it. I work out of my dad's office until 4:30, then drink a gin and tonic and eat takeout with my parents before driving back south to meet J & J at the cinema. We've had tickets to see the premier of Ghost's concert film, Rite Here, Rite Now, for over a month. I arrive unshowered, disheveled, and worse for wear, but happy to have somewhere to go and sit in a cool, dark room. Among the suburban families queuing to see The Garfield Movie and Inside Out 2 are conspicuous pale waifs in goth black. J & J are wearing their Ghost t-shirts and I'm disappointed I didn't remember to wear mine. I say so and Jamie asks if I thought it was a movie about Elton John. I'm wearing a purple and green Art's Tavern t-shirt with a multi-colored neon windbreaker, the outfit I escaped in earlier this morning.
We saw Ghost on the Impera tour last summer and knew Papa's days were numbered. A post-credit clergy scene teases his successor, but it's a feint. Fans will have to wait.
Friday, June 21
I've completed my assignments and ticked off nearly all my daily tasks. The central air exhales tepidly through the vents. The power came back on last night, but the air conditioning is clearly broken. Of all weeks to have to bother D, of course it's this one. He and his wife are expecting their first child literally any moment. I assume every HVAC worker in Michigan is already tending to someone else's cooling crisis, but he manages to hire a soft-spoken contractor for a visit.
A summer listlessness installs itself in my body as I while away the hours reading my Inspector Maigret novel and watching the Top Chef season finale. I was rooting for Savannah with Dan as my runner-up, but it's Danny, the most technical of the three finalists, who wins. Watching television, especially reality TV, during the day is an anathema to me, but this almost feels like a sick day, so I give in. The contractor works diligently for an hour, flattening my day lilies, but gets us up and running again by 5:30. I drive out into the haze to fetch Islay who spent the night with my parents. Along the way I detour to Bishop Lake and submerge myself below gleaming cloud banks piled high like snowy pompadours. It's my first swim of the year and the water is disappointingly warm.