Revisiting that viciously sad, beautiful Mary Lattimore record.
Moving my record player to a more convenient location, so I’ll actually use it.
Listening to Dusk’s and Buck Meek’s new LPs.
Buck’s record has one of the best covers ever.
Using my grandpa’s little, green, plastic pocket knife for the first time since I got it from his workshop after he died last summer. I watched him use it in that workshop when I was little.
Finding my cousin’s old, bedazzled Sidekick in my closet, worrying about unleashing a pent-up Sidekick spirit by flipping it open.
The New York Times article about Ryuichi Sakamoto asking a restaurant to let him curate their music playlist because he was so annoyed by what they had been playing (via Billy).
“Mr. Sakamoto objects to loud restaurant music, and often uses a decibel meter on his phone to measure the volume of the sound around him.”
How my perspective of food changes in light of pharmaceuticals’ outsize impact on our bodies. If such a tiny dose can affect us so profoundly, isn’t it scary to put many more times that amount, in the form of bread and cheese and sauce, in our bodies all the time? I understand that drugs are precision-focused to do certain things, and foods are made of basic parts whose impact we can generally predict. But the comparison still freaks me out.