The lighting tech (an A/V Club dropout, resplendent in a too-small black tee that said SECURITY and a scraggly beard that reached to his nipples) for a popular Quad Cities cover band called Cheeze Pizza (most notable for their fifty-something lead singer dressing in drag) tried to upstage us, then committed a heinous etiquette breach by starting to set up his shit 10 seconds after we finished, rendering me one more shoulder bump from committing a gruesome onstage homicide-by-lighting-truss-rectal-insertion.
- Two friends—one dear, the other more of a FOAF—who I used to think were sensitive and intelligent have lived in close company with small-minded idiots for too long, and the effects are heartbreaking to see. Choose your companions wisely.
- The backlash against the date-rape-drug-detecting nail polish baffles me. OF COURSE the priority is educating men and raising boys to end rape culture. Obviously. In this house we are working hard to raise our son exactly that way. HOWEVER, until the rest of the world catches up, and that may take a while, I want my daughter to have every possible tool at her disposal to protect herself. If this sort of thing saves even one woman, how is it bad? We can play offense and defense at the same time, and we should.
- One Direction is pläying at Soldier Field tonight and there is a 60% chance of thunderstorms. Team Cloud!
- I heard that the dev team at my previous employer was instructed six weeks ago to stop writing software. Due to the company being sold, TPTB didn’t want to risk any release-related production outages. So those engineers have been working short hours, surfing the web, looking for new jobs, etc. Fuck yeah, capital markets!
- Bad At Marketing, Part CLXXVI: I’ll be playing with The Recliners again at Poopy’s in Savanna, IL this Sunday from 1-5. It’s the last big outdoor show of the season….come on out, maybe see one of your favorite farmers from northwest Illinois.
I got a big whiff of the river this morning and it smelled like the lake.
That shouldn’t be unusual. We turned that river around so the lake flows into it. The river literally is the lake. But it is unusual, at least at the Van Buren bridge, a couple of miles downriver from the mouth. It’s an unmistakeable smell, and there it was, strong and…green? Something.
My nose is easily my poorest input device, and that’s even after 35 years of constant, high wattage abuse to my ears. When people ask me, “do you smell that?” the answer is always no. Gas? Weed? Skunk? Farts? Nope. It’s a good thing we’re generally past the point where the species needs that skill to identify rotten food or predator danger in the wild. This otherwise functional and occasionally interesting line of genes would have ended long ago.
This morning, anyway, oddly, my snoot worked. I smelled that lake just as sure as I was standing in it the summer before kindergarten, trying to catch minnows with a butterfly net. It’s hard for me to distinguish the components of that smell, much as I suppose it would be hard for a deaf man to pick out the viola line at the symphony. From what I know, that signature smell is probably due to a certain set of algae or bacteria. That sounds bad, but it’s pleasant, I promise. And not just from the associated warm memories. I’ve had some rough days by that lake, too, and the smell registered just the same. It’s distinct. I don’t recall any other lake, Great or otherwise, smelling that way, either. It’s a healthy, living smell.
Like it came, so it left. Curious, at lunchtime I went back out there to see if I might find it again, but I couldn’t. Nor was it there when I crossed that bridge again on my way home. Maybe the wind shifted, or maybe it’s one of those things you can only find when you aren’t looking.