I used to shyly play the piano at my grandparents’ house.Read More
Again, betrayed is how I felt. Mania for a neighborhood of green lawns in summer was ruining my summer. That lawn was making me buy gasoline I didn’t have money for. That gas wasn’t getting me to work to make me money, nor was it getting me out to Royal Oak to The Gap outlet for cheap clothes, nor to Ann Arbor the closest college town with good books and eats, nor to any oddball Michigan town to conduct research for our project (more on that in the future).Read More
Clarkston, Michigan was a mostly middle class and upper middle class suburb. Jared and I were by no means either. Our privilege was whiteness, if that, because our whiteness was at least partly shadowed by our shabbiness and what might be called “artiness”, “bohemian air” or “punkishness”, and likely all three.Read More
I gotta dig up our photographs from Detroit. G/d, we were so young. Poor and getting into debt. Working in Detroit. We were renting a house in Clarkston, Michigan from a minister and her family who also ran a casual southern food cafe. Her husband was a cop. They had two sweet, well behaved, and good looking kids, a son and daughter. We would drop by the restaurant for spicy chicken and coconut pie and dine with the husband and kids while she cooked.
There are so many more things to say about this…like I said I gotta get those photos, but I also gotta meet a friend for dinner.
I found this note on a scrap of paper. It is probably about 3 years old. Beren is past his Richard Scarry days, in which we find the compelling but bit part character, Maniac. Here is what Beren told me about Maniac:
Maniac’s ear and arm fell off. He plants mugwort. He uses a tea candle as a fire pit. His house is no color. He had no family.
Jared and I were doing some long term planning tonight. In the office. Door closed. Beren was reading comics.
As we planned, I was remembering back to simpler days. No house. Just us. Two vehicles both dependably in disrepair. Simpler. I guess.Read More
Child of the 80s, that's what I am. I did half of the 70s, and then the 80s took me right up to the teen years. So, forgive me when I hum certain lyrics in certain situations.
I would certainly rather have some sage Buddhist wisdom come first.Read More
The radio is awful. I could stop there, but I will go on.
I went on two car rides with nothing to listen to but a.) my thoughts or b.) the radio. I opted for the radio which I spend less time with than myself.
Radio is targeted towards several different groups (in alphabetical order so I appear to be unbiased):
People at work
People in far younger than me
People my age
People older than me
I'll stick with the "People my age" category. We get grunge and Fat Boy Slim. I am not nostalgic for high school days, nor college days.
Fat Boy Slim, yes, "Praise You" is pretty catchy. I like it partly because it is upbeat, and partly because the song reminds me of a talented and eccentric friend who was good at impressions of a few singers, including Fat Boy Slim and Michael McDonald.
Grunge. Not nostalgic for high school, so hearing grunge music does not do too much for me. But, my, my those City Gardens shows in Trenton. Nirvana, Mudhoney, 7 Seconds (not grunge, I know).
We had some good times, yeah?
In a moment, a thing is a part of a person, and then it is not. It is the person, and then it is an object.
We met up another time. I bummed a cigarette as a souvenir. I didn't confess to Sheep my reason to taking his cigarette. Later, I carefully stashed the cigarette and magazine in my suitcase, and flew home.Read More