Nerd Bait’s Prof Paul pointed me to an interesting article the other day. But before we get to that, here’s a track he wrote that has apparently been generating a lot of hits in Japan:
We’re not entirely sure whether this is because we’re getting hits from real people, or a Japanese robot. Nor are we quite sure which which would be cooler. (Spoiler: the answer’s at the bottom of the page….)
Last week‘s visit to Coda Music’s event for Record Store Day was a reminder of the late, lamented branch of Avalanche Records on West Nicholson Street. Not that I need much reminding, as regular readers will know (1, 2, 3).
16 April was the deadline for turning in my Spring semester portfolio. And of course Illicit Ink’s Apollo 21, co-starring Stroke Bloke, premièred the prior night at Edinburgh’s Royal Observatory on Blackford Hill. I’d like to think that Apollo 21 wouldn’t have been possible in its final, polished form without – in addition to great performances and writing by the whole team – the contributions of my super-talented Nerd Bait bandmates Steph the Brain and Professor Paul, who soundtracked the whole thing.
When I say it’s difficult to listen to this without crying, that’s a good thing. But don’t just take my word for it – thanks to 1 Proton 1 Electron for this lovely review.
When I was a teen bandaged heads scared me I read a lot of crime fiction. I wrote a book report on the granpaw of Scottish Noir, William McIlvanney’s Laidlaw. I read a bunch of Robert B. Parker’s Spenser novels. And I got into Parker because he was asked to finish the Marlowe novel, Poodle Springs. And I loved Chandler.
A week stuffed full of different types of culture in Edinburgh this week. On Wednesday, I went the art school for a music industry session organised by Edinburgh University’s careers service as part of their Creative and Cultural Careers Festival.
Now, of course, becoming a writer isn’t necessarily the best step to take for career purposes.
As hashed over ad nauseam on this blog, there are different types of time. Newtonian time. Relative time. And of course, NFL time. Where 3 hours, 12 minutes = 11 minutes.
But one rarely reads about Astley Ainslie time. Y’see, I went to the Astley Ainslie Hospital for a driving assessment last week. When I first checked in with my GP upon my return to Edinburgh in 2013, she told me that due to my stroke, I’d have to take a driving assessment test before resuming driving.
On Saturday, I was walking past George Heriot’s School on Lauriston Place again. This time, with Longsufferinggirlfriendoftheblogbeth. We carried on behind the back of the National Museum of Scotland, and the dome of the Old College seemed to both hang directly and vastly above us, and stubbornly remain blocks away.
It was neither, of course. The dome was at the far end of the quad as usual, as we approached the Old College from the south-west.
One of the first things you’ll notice strolling around Edinburgh is the collection of private schools that seem to have dropped out of context and out of the sky. Pudgily gothic Fettes. The ersatz Red Square on the Thames of Stewart’s-Melville.
Last week, I was wandering along Lauriston Place, heading in a roundabout sort of way towards Cockburn Street to see if the t-shirt shop had replenished its stock of John and Yokos. Heading east along the street, I was distracted from George Heriot’s School looming from an Edinburghian distance by the sounds of Kermode and Mayo’s Film Review on BBC Radio Five Live.
[The apoplectic.me Tiny Letter distribution usually riffs off in a different direction from the week’s post. Check it out here.]
For anyone who’s particularly keen to get an insight into this guy’s fear and frustration and confusion and claustrophobia during the early stages of stroke recovery, please sign up for apoplectic.me Tiny Letter distributions, if you haven’t already. I’ll be covering that today.
But as Longsufferinggirlfriendoftheblogbeth likes to say