Finding Rhythm
It's Always Easier with Music
Process not Perfection
I went back to work last week after two months on hiatus. I’m grateful for a job and I’ll get creative with what I’ve got in front of me but will have to find a new rhythm and schedule when it comes to writing.
As I start to crew up a series again, there’s comfort in the fact that we’ve done this together before and some excitement in the unknown since our process will have to be a little different with less time to execute and less room for hiccups this round. I’ll leave more of the mistakes, trial and error for a world outside of the work laptop …
Speaking of mistakes, my copy of Geddy Lee’s book My Effin' Life: From Holocaust Roots to Rock and Roll Stardom (yep, talking Rush again) had almost forty pages out of order toward the end and I was strangely pleased. I’m picturing Geddy printing the book himself and Effin’ it up. I sent an email to Geddy’s team and they gave me permission to make mistakes in dance class last week. Truly though, it was the first time in a long time that I had fun learning a lot of choreography and was okay not getting it right. I’m gonna make some mistakes in this too as I try out a new format for what I share and the way I share.
Stories from Songs & Scraps
I’m combining my original trash scrap story prompt idea with a song in this section. Nick Hornby does something like it in 31 Songs minus the trash, but if I recall they’re all pieces related to songs that were significant to him. For this, I’d rather the songs used be new to me or at least ones without deep emotional connection already. I don’t remember which Substack post or newsletter inspired me to listen to the song I’m using this week, but I’ll be better about sharing credit for the inspiration if I continue playing with this format.
“Cash Only”
The Prompt = Song: “Love Takes Miles” Cameron Winter + Trash Scrap: ATM receipt for 3 x $100.00
Relief! Buck’s signature grin genuinely matches his inner feelings as he stuffs three One Hundred Dollar Bills still wrapped in the buyer’s ATM receipt into his Stretch Denim Jean Shorts, no belt. Buck’s possessions even if recycled fast fashion were always thoughtfully purchased and well cared for until recycled or sold again. He had an eye for affordability, especially related to apparel and some accessories. A great deal on clothing meant he could look good, feel good and still have money left for dining out.
Buck turns on the heel of his Brown Leather Loafers with Rubber Soles and No-Show Socks, walks briskly out of the Caltech parking lot and onto California Boulevard. Behind him, the professor and now new owner of his White Road Bike is hunched slightly in a Black Moss Sweater Vest wheeling it toward school buildings.
Shoulders back, Buck keeps walking but is quick to spot and fix a button that’s come undone on his Mens Standard Fit Oxford Blue and White Shirt, tucked in. He raises his hand to secure the Grey Felt Fedora on his head but is unable to see rings of wetness in his pits. The sweat is from movement, naturally, but also nerves. This afternoon Muna will arrive from Oakland in a Toyota Corolla purchased outright by her parents for them to share.
Buck has given up his rented room in the cozy house on La Paz Drive to move into an apartment with her on Cordova Street. Muna has been excitedly sending him recipes in anticipation of them cooking together in their tiny apartment kitchen. Muna knows that up until now, Buck has preferred dining out since he works from home, it’s a chance to get out and shed loneliness. She doesn’t know that he’s not entirely ready to give up the habit just because she’s moved to Pasadena to live with him.
With a genetic predisposition for a bodybuilding career tossed aside for a job as a Risk Management Specialist, Buck’s strong leg muscles pop out from his shorts and propel him along the sidewalk during rush hour. The honking of a car horn mixed with his hanger doesn’t break the perpetual smile that his grandmother promised would mean less facial wrinkling as he aged. Even while deeply concerned about whether he’ll still be able to take walks like this to eat breakfast alone after today, Buck grins. Sharing space, money and food with a woman on a consistent basis will require new muscle memory.
Traffic lights, crosswalk signals and a block of heavy construction near the campus are the only reasons for variation in Buck’s speed but still no change in his expression. In a moment of pause for a forklift bumbling across the street, one of two middle-aged women walkers wearing overpriced, matching Sheer Oak All-Sport Visors and elbows bent at their sides yips, “We LOVE your hat!” He quickly puts a protective hand on the Fedora but politely takes the compliment. They giggle like school-age brats. As the Visors plow powerfully past the forklift crossing to the opposite side of the boulevard, Buck continues straight ahead passing a construction team in hard hats. He ruminates on the earlier comment on his own, “We LOVE your hat!” Were they mocking him?
In between the stream of cars on both sides of the boulevard Buck sees the Visors bounce up the street. He brings his elbows up to his sides like them, using the force of his arms in conjunction with his thighs to test whether their form propels him faster. Indeed their walking style has him breathing heavily and once he catches up from across the boulevard and feels triumphantly tied, he lets his arms fall, relaxed. He vows to use that form another time for his own gain when it wouldn’t come off as him ridiculing them. Even if they were mocking him earlier, he won’t stoop to their level. The Visors appear headed in another direction and Bucks’s eyes are on the Pie ‘N Burger just steps away.
There’s no longer a sign on the diner window announcing CASH ONLY but there’s still a notification upon entering. He almost always carries a couple of bills in his phone case, but today he’s more than prepared from the sale. Confident, he takes a seat at the counter, Fedora off and in his lap, his balding twenty-something head now showing. He orders Coffee and a Chili & Cheese Omelet from the waiter in a Black Vintage Wash Cotton Pocket T-Shirt and tattooed sleeves. He holds a gracious smile as his coffee is poured but when the diner door opens abruptly revealing the Visors once more, he frowns and instinctively shields the Fedora again.
The Visors look past Buck and one asks the waiter, “You really only take cash?” He’s firm, “There’s an ATM across the street.” Both pout and then the other asks, “No exceptions?” The waiter turns away annoyed. The Visors look over at Buck like he might side with them asking, “Seriously?” Offering a smile was his style so he turns from frown to grin easily, but surprises himself when he retorts smugly, imitating their spoiled tone, “Seriously. No exceptions.”
Visors get the message, have no words left and shuffle out the door. The waiter offers a high five but Buck isn’t proud of his impulsive behavior. Buck pours cream in his coffee. With his first sip he spills on the Fedora. Dabbing it gently with a napkin he decides he’s had enough solo breakfast outings for a while. The cash in pocket should go to groceries and cooking with Muna. And the Fedora should be dry-cleaned.
Songs on Rotation
A section inspired by car rides with family where we listen to music the most. This week it’s from my twelve year old. He’s had these on repeat:
“Gorof (Elixir)” - Dur Dur Band, Sahra Dawo
“Golden Brown” - The Stranglers
Until Next Time…