“All of this is unexpectedly moving.”

Here we are on the cusp of the autumnal equinox and I, of course, mean “moving” in the emotional sense of the word.

Normally I would worry that an update regarding the weather might be boring or trite, but frankly (and I think most of you South Carolinians will agree with me) the approaching change of season has delivered weather so perfect that it seems worthy of more than simply a passing mention. Running is no longer a death-march through sticky, 105-degree heat and the necessity of a jacket yesterday evening excited me nearly to the point of giddiness. The leaves’ turn toward warmer hues has redirected my nostalgia toward those autumn Saturdays of my childhood spent falling backward into a green cart piled full of fallen leaves to be hauled to the woods, my hair and mouth left with the earthy smells and tastes of decomposing foliage. Our clime has suddenly turned into what my father would call “perfect sleeping weather” and I couldn’t be happier about it.

As a part of my ongoing effort to accrue useful life skills, I’ve taken up what seems like a seasonally-appropriate hobby: knitting.

My first attempt at a scarf, knitted in an 80’s-worthy gradient of neon colors, of course.

Things have been really busy around Hub-Bub over the past few days with lectures, readings, writing groups, and gallery openings. Most of my energy has been going into editing the hours and hours of audio footage from my roadtrip, but in my spare time I’ve been reading Truman Capote, more George Saunders and this month’s The Believer.

There was a particularly enjoyable article in there this month by a fellow Michigander, Ander Monson, about the ceremonial links that tie Gerald R. Ford’s funeral to singing karaoke (more specifically, to singing New Order . . . get it? “Ceremony?”) Anyway, Ford’s funeral was held in my hometown, Grand Rapids, so it was nice reading about some familiar places. Moreover, Monson’s style is pretty hilarious. Discussing the article over the phone, John and I agreed that he works this sort-of flippant, seemingly-unresearched style to its fullest potential:

“The band reportedly had agreed to split if one of them left the band, so they re-formed as another band, the sort-of-martially-named electronic pop outfit New Order. I don’t know what [Ian] Curtis’s funeral was like, if he had one, or what.”

“Ford is one of two important Fords in Michigan.”

“Here’s a douchebag in a Chevy pulling in. Those sunglasses are hard to take seriously. Come on, man.”

Mr. Monson, I couldn’t have said it better.