Weeknotes: October 7-11, 2024
Monday, October 7
I get a notice from the Ypsilanti Library that my MelCat order is ready for pickup. They've shipped Leif Enger's Peace Like a River up from the Monroe County Library for me. I finish reading Virgil Wander before bed so I can swap them out tomorrow and continue my Enger journey. The weather is turning chilly and I have a head cold — perfect circumstances for a good book. The Tigers rebound from their weekend pummeling to win Game 2 of the ALDS and now the series is coming to Detroit. I stand at the kitchen cupboards listening to the ballgame, feeling ravenous. It's feed a cold, starve a fever, right? I wind down the evening editing a series of short essays I've written about Ann Arbor for the library's bicentennial project.
Tuesday, October 8
Outside my studio window a small maple tree across the street is just beginning to color. The walnut in the foreground is already bare. I consider bailing on my afternoon class, but my cold already seems to be fading. I can manage. It's one of those frustrating evenings when I can't seem to complete a task.
Wednesday, October 9
From the upper deck Jeff Lynne looks like a caricature of Jeff Lynne; the mop of dark curly hair and beard, the tinted glasses, the Les Paul guitar. Why is it strange when someone famous looks exactly the way you'd expect? His voice, though — unmistakable and still vibrant. I choke up a bit on "Can't Get It Out of My Head" and "Telephone Line." The 13-piece band is outrageously good, covering all the fussy little ELO vocal parts and interlocking melodic lines. When they nail the hyper-fast "Turn to Stone" vocal breakdown Jamie and I give twin fist pumps. "Mr. Blue Sky" is the encore, of course, and it reminds me of seeing Brian Wilson and his band play "Good Vibrations" back in 2000. 20th century pop ambition at its zenith.
Thursday, October 10
I'm standing at the end of my block looking up at the northern lights for the second time this year. Even in the city with streetlights on either side, the sky has a sweet rosy hue. A lilac tree on the other side of the fence is back in bloom which feels ecologically foreboding. A car pulls up and a guy in a baseball cap walks back and forth, checking addresses before walking up onto a neighbor’s porch. The door opens and he enters to a raucous chorus of "nooooooo!!!!" For a split second I remember what it was like to be in my 20s.
Friday, October 11
I read Justin Hopper's interview in the first issue of Weird Walk and note his use of the term "landscape punk." I Google it to find an interesting piece in the Quietus from Gary Budden, another author I don't know. From there I learn about the U.K. cult classic program Penda's Fen and a clutch of other U.K. authors I now want to read. I love it when you crack open the door of a room you didn't know existed to find acres of new magic. I detune my guitar to something drony and English-sounding and sit on the porch for a while, meditating around a vague melody. I get an invitation to meet up for drinks and pass through Frog Island, following a stray cat spooked by the noisy train tracks. I call out softly, but it disappears into the trees. As I continue on, a bunny intersects my path, its cotton ball tail also disappearing into the woods. Out on the dark soccer pitch I see another shape. The skunk's tail goes vertical as I hustle past.