so, dang, I missed a Tuesday. it’s been a minute since that happened, and there are any number of excuses, but the reality is that once I get some momentum on something, my brain steps in and does its thing, which is this thing:
usually, it starts strong. “I’ll have each post queued up well before 10AM every Tuesday so I can watch my open rates like a hawk and adjust accordingly.” then, often not terribly soon after, it turns to “all positive feedback is anecdotal and surely no-one cares if it’s 10AM or 2PM.” then, very soon thereafter, it’s “what if I miss a Tuesday, but I posted something on Instagram so that’s cool, but how would I possibly maintain two things at once, well, now it’s Wednesday.”so, with the shame of arbitrarily lost momentum ground into a fine powder and packed aggressively into both nostrils, we pick it back up and try again…
every week there are things I’ve noticed and want to hold on to at least for another week, and this week it’s…
◆ snap bracelets as an enduring cheap party favor, an undisputed leader in a category of “I don’t know why this feels so satisfying until some day in the far-off future I learn what stimming is.”
◆ green onions, chopped into rings or, in a hurry, a slinky-adjacent collection of inadequately separated rings, thrown on anything in/on/around white rice.
◆ our local library’s LEGO club, as consistent as I am inconsistent, every Saturday, free 99, beautifully color-sorted buckets of bricks to be assembled into literally whatever, and name/age cards to proudly display them in a glass case for the coming week until they’re torn apart, reorganized, and offered up again, on Saturday, without fail.
◆ every single video, angle, and missive on Turnstile’s massive free show in Baltimore last weekend, a cultural moment as much as it is as a rare, rare, rare bright spot, even for the “not for me” folks that are forced to recognize that something happens when you mash this many people together and tether them to a singular experience of sound and movement and life and love, entertainment as much as it is catharsis, a feeling that I don’t think I could feel now as acutely and existentially as I could when I had little to care for and nothing to be careful about, but as a person who’s been lucky to be somewhere near things like this (ask me about Rochester band How We Are’s final show in a garabge truck storage warehouse sometime) and has a lot to care for and be careful about, and needs to know, truly, that it’s still happening out there, and that it’s outdoors in a park surrounded by all the life we forget to notice, well hell, how could it be any better?◆ ◆ ◆