Season Finale
I'm sure it's a cliff-hanger
Gah! It’s an end-of-year Substack, where I stack all my sub-interesting ideas and accomplishments. Why? Because we like you.
In no particular order of transcendence:
I discovered that Isoamyl Salicylate is probably overpowering my blend (a Brut-like fougère I’ve been studying). The little dropper bottle containing it was filled with a dense, milky, thick liquid, which I suspect was the overconcentrated and possibly contaminated form of the aroma chemical. I fear I may have unintentionally overdosed it in the formula. Brut-al.
Storylines is a song I wrote in the 2010s that sounded like the ‘90s. It was recently given the ‘70s treatment by the good folks at Studio 601, but later was catapulted into the ‘80s by keyboardist Andy Nolte. A timeless classic? More of a schizophrenic pop miss. For now.
Sometimes I say hello to the small mountain of boxes and furnishings that form the bulk of my belongings patiently awaiting me in a dark but climate-controlled storage room in South Austin. I just stand there, in the middle of it all, and say, “We’ll find you a home, guys.”
Some of my favorite lines to play on the guitar in a live performance are simple phrases that repeat endlessly. Think James Brown or Fela Kuti. Or in the case of Bamako Airlines, the tunes “Bandjilla” and “Madan”, which at first had me sweating. “I’m supposed to play that, at that tempo, for that long??” I’ve since learned to relax and enjoy the ride. I also came up with two mnemonic devices to help remember the phrases, as the song titles and lyrics are all in languages foreign to me. One is “Look, banana fat, hey, take a look at that,” and the other is “Look, a boy, a girl; look, a man, a woman.” I still forget which song is which.
A Brooklyn accent, even a shaded one, reminiscent of my father, does not give truth to a role. Knowing why you're saying what you’re saying does.
I host salons because I want to gather Creative Explorers Who Desire to Enrich Their Connection to Humanity. (Still working on this tagline).
Seeing my lover’s face, unadorned, first thing in the morning, is one of the simple joys.
I had chosen not to write about perfume, music, home, acting, salons, or love for most of the year.
I have recited the Heart Sutra (Prajnaparamita) in the shower every day for most of the year.
I’ve adopted a skin care routine!
I don’t want to believe that weather shall whither one, whether it is wuthering, sweltering, or swell…said Comfortable Guy writing in a comfortable oversized furry armchair, indoors on a temperate day, enjoying a coffee made with cheap H.E.Beans in a two-cup drip brewer, a head’s turn from an expansive view of the verdant West Austin hills.
But what does he mean by “weather”?
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