Tag: punk rock

Cloister Commentary, Day 199: Ah, Those Voiceless Volar Plosives

I sincerely hope I am in the company of many millions who are tired of chaos, calamity, callousness, and corruption. Hope, not bet. I am not a betting man.

Yesterday, I did some COVID clean-up: made a doctor’s appointment, a flu / shingles vaccination appointment, and an oil change appointment (to be clear, for my vehicle); watched a bathroom sink faucet replacement video; called three Missouri counties’ clerks for clarification; and listen to a slew of garage punk and hardcore punk albums I’d not checked out for a while (sorry for all those voiceless velar plosives–look it up, I did). It felt good.

Instead of installing the new faucet as soon as I got home, I sat on my ass and read thr new issue of The Week and listened to the first four discs of the recently released expanded version of Prince’s Sign o’ The Times. The excellence of the latter assuaged the despair elicited by the former.

As dusk fell, Nicole and I rejoiced in being able to eat fresh tomato and mayo sandwiches in October (!!!), and finished Watchmen fully satisfied that our time wasn’t wasted in the least.

Streaming for Strivers:

Regarding the above musical reference?

Cloister Commentary, Day 199: Ah, Those Voiceless Volar Plosives

I sincerely hope I am in the company of many millions who are tired of chaos, calamity, callousness, and corruption. Hope, not bet. I am not a betting man.

Yesterday, I did some COVID clean-up: made a doctor’s appointment, a flu / shingles vaccination appointment, and an oil change appointment (to be clear, for my vehicle); watched a bathroom sink faucet replacement video; called three Missouri counties’ clerks for clarification; and listen to a slew of garage punk and hardcore punk albums I’d not checked out for a while (sorry for all those voiceless velar plosives–look it up, I did). It felt good.

Instead of installing the new faucet as soon as I got home, I sat on my ass and read thr new issue of The Week and listened to the first four discs of the recently released expanded version of Prince’s Sign o’ The Times. The excellence of the latter assuaged the despair elicited by the former.

As dusk fell, Nicole and I rejoiced in being able to eat fresh tomato and mayo sandwiches in October (!!!), and finished Watchmen fully satisfied that our time wasn’t wasted in the least.

Streaming for Strivers:

Regarding the above musical reference?

Cloister Commentary, Day 199: Ah, Those Voiceless Volar Plosives

I sincerely hope I am in the company of many millions who are tired of chaos, calamity, callousness, and corruption. Hope, not bet. I am not a betting man.

Yesterday, I did some COVID clean-up: made a doctor’s appointment, a flu / shingles vaccination appointment, and an oil change appointment (to be clear, for my vehicle); watched a bathroom sink faucet replacement video; called three Missouri counties’ clerks for clarification; and listen to a slew of garage punk and hardcore punk albums I’d not checked out for a while (sorry for all those voiceless velar plosives–look it up, I did). It felt good.

Instead of installing the new faucet as soon as I got home, I sat on my ass and read thr new issue of The Week and listened to the first four discs of the recently released expanded version of Prince’s Sign o’ The Times. The excellence of the latter assuaged the despair elicited by the former.

As dusk fell, Nicole and I rejoiced in being able to eat fresh tomato and mayo sandwiches in October (!!!), and finished Watchmen fully satisfied that our time wasn’t wasted in the least.

Streaming for Strivers:

Regarding the above musical reference?

Cloister Commentary, Day 142: Dread-Treatments

Woke up with a feeling of dread and treated that with a headphone dose of rabble-rousing, stare-down, truth-telling punk rock. Not only did I feel much better afterward, but Nicole got a chance to sleep in!

Some other dread-treatments that worked? NBA basketball (the Pelicans lost but oh well), family ‘n’ friend Zooms (Jane, Brian, Myra, Jill, and Rex), piña coladas (Nicole made me sing that horrific Rupert Holmes song–I tried to sing it like Slim Pickens would have if Slim Pickens had sung, but nothing can redeem lines like “If you have half a brain”), a korma konkoktion, weeding yes weeding.

Nicole and I also took on a new project. A couple New York Times Magazines ago, 23 current writers under the banner of “The Decameron Project” published short pieces in the vein of Boccaccio’s Italian “Black Death” classic. You may know some of their names: Margaret Atwood, Victor LaValle, Tommy Orange, Ewidge Danticat, and David Mitchell are just a few. Entering into a fraught school semester, we thought it would be fun to read one piece a night together and discuss it. Yes, we have strange ideas of fun but we like it that way. Anyhow, we were too pooped last night to talk about the first story (it was really an intro, anyway) by the time we’d both read it–but we will catch up on the walk we’re about to take.

Streaming for Strivers:

More mordant musings.