The popularization of the auto-tuner continues…
Bon Iver, Woods Blood Bank
These honking trucks are the bane of my existence. Once when I lived alone in a too big house in Wichita I lived with a couple of crickets. It was a nightly battle of hunting them out as sleep was interrupted by their nonstop chirps (made complicated by the thought that crickets were good luck—how could I kill them? I brushed them outside with a broom). I kept imaging my nightly life as some kind of children’s book titled Katie and the Crickets. It’s about a lonely girl in a too big house striking out on the prairie, taking care of herself.
These trucks are far less charming. And all I can do is plead by the window “No, please, stop honking . . what will come of all this honking, really?”
May I suggest putting on your mu-mu, pulling up the window and shaking your fist towards the sky? It may not stop the honking, but it’s a good release.
Welcome Paper Tiger
For Beginners -M Ward
Going to California
On repeat
On a organic farm visit upstate
