What Is Happening?

If they get to the East Coast, we've really got a problem on our hands

Meanwhile, on the West Coast...

Modern Romance

Modern Romance

Subject line in an email from Apple, as I've got Miles Davis on meanwhile: 'Call us when you're ready.'

Body in an email from Apple: 'You've chosen to call Apple later,' and the track is Fat Time

'When you're ready

call the phone number below.

For faster support

refer to’

And then a twelve-digit case number,
I feel so used

But it rages on, through

Then, Now, Always

Meanwhile...

Why not, White House reporters?

What if

the White House reporters showed up to press briefings wearing combat helmets?

Why not?

Come on, do something.

Get creative.

Why not film them when they black you out (or, you know, just turn the cameras back on yourselves)?

Why not become a bit unpredictable?

Get a bit crafty.

Why not?

Employ that oddball, chin-up bag of tricks I would hope you've assembled by now, assuming you've done other reporting.

Come on, some of you must have.

Forget what they think of you. Put them on defense. Pivot. Be direct. Clear. Interrupt non-answers by repeating the question non-answered.

Come on, do something.

Your combat helmets will protect you.

Yes, I Still Think About You Late At Night...

Light & Motion [II]

I find the urge to be upset about everything right now understandable, I really do, but there are times that is just too depressing an ask.

I can't with this Chris Cornel news today, I can't

And then I see the picture, eyes-so-pinned, and my jaw tightens

And then I'm on my way to meet a friend for brunch, a friend I used to see for brunch here all the time, a friend I miss, a friend I am excited to see,

and his voice

comes on, track 3 of a random mix cd, head down

I sit down inside at the brunch place and his band's album is playing overhead and of course it is,

that's the right thing, and I'm glad to hear it even as my gut tightens, even as I lament to my friend how

his voice

has to join the chorus of dead musicians' voices now, reminding me they're dead every time I hear them and

maybe I don't even need to know they're dead, and I don't need to know them by their death

Then again, Chris Cornell was a poet, so I guess the death association was there with him all along

in a way it wasn't with Prince or David Bowie and I'm not listing them, I'm not thinking any more

about George Michael

playing in a store last month, making my teeth touch