Some days I worry. Yes, I was looking at some fancy minimal wallet this morning, but only because it caught A.’s eye. (And sure, RFID shielding looks like a nice-to-have feature, but that might be me overreacting to this month’s book-club choice.) I’ve got an ordinary, perfectly serviceable, anonymous, slightly larger than useful wallet. I’ve a wristwatch for the half-dozen times a day I’m not touching my phone. Maybe this is the weekend I hunt down an actually comfortable replacement wristband for it. Hey, it could happen. I’ve got a generic multi blade pocket knife for everything my wit can’t cut, but I don’t put it through its paces for anything more strenuous than a package. It’s basically a glorified beer-bottle opener. As for cameras, well, nobody’s handing out Leicas on the street, so that itch only comes up once or twice a month if someone like Om or Sean mentions it in a newsletter. Then it’s off to comb listlessly through the used listings of a shop one town over, or to hunt make-and-model reviews. Groooaaaannnn!
Weird feeling, a little odd and numb and empty to hear about the latest in a recent run of musicians moving on. I remember looking up a long list of bands who released albums in 1982 and thinking to include “Special Beat Service.” I ought to dust it off this week. Part of it is seeing how clearly he was who he was so young, and that the clarity lasted and can still be seen by so many. Part of it is marveling at the band going by two names, and then its leads forming a completely different project, and then its leads forming versions of the original band: nobody does anything like that anymore, do they?
Up early and out to drop A. off, and then off to wait out the tail end of the morning’s inbound rush-hour traffic. I wandered through a big-box store under renovation. I hadn’t set foot in the place in months, but seeing the tile stripped away to rudely reveal cement made it feel even more under-construction than the rearranged aisles and extensive clearance-sale racks. I went back and forth on buying a $20 analog watch, but figured it made more sense to try to replace the metal watch band instead. I did spring for a 3.5mm-to-Lightning adapter, thanks to the clerk managing to tear his eyes away from his iPhone streaming today’s product-announcement event. I stared at some promising bands before realizing they were for smart watches. Glad I got smart, just in time. Then home for a little piano time before work and weather.
I wasn’t expecting this to be one of the songs I liked on Lucy Rose’s new album “No Words Left.” I can’t read the title, after all, without thinking of the song on Frank Ocean’s “Blond(e)” album, or one of the verses in St. Vincent’s “New York.” If you’re going for it, then you’d better be able to make it work, make it more than an easy aural pun. Maybe it’s the melancholy in the major sevenths, or the orchestration at the margins, but to my ears she clears the bar and then some. I’ll try it out a few more times to see if I can sort out the best bits.
The second Friday hike in a row meant returning to one of the quietest spots without cell phone service within city limits. It took us a little bit more than two hours to amble and stumble four and a half miles along the Chown, West Ridge and Orchard trails before getting back to where we’d parked at the staging area. A woman paused as we passed her at one point and apologized for her dogs, who kept jumping up and down. I told her it had taken me a while to give up the habit. She asked how I did it. “Treats,” I said.
Then, after a shower and some lunch at home, we went over to the Grand Lake Theater to see “Blindspotting” make a portrait out of the landscape and turn some talented performing into a mostly but not completely recognizable Town tale — not that I was supposed to recognize everything, but certainly a lot more than I expected.