farewell, huey
And Huey The Truck is off on his journey to Carvana heaven, his factory stereo reinstalled, license plate removed, all traces of both my grandfather and I (save the tool box in the bed and the phone mount, which I had to superglue to the dash; let both be someone else's problem) removed. Strange seeing Vanna, the truck I wanted so much and that I so love, sitting in the driveway without Huey looming over her, though not in a creeper sort of way; while Huey was a good little truck that got both of us through a difficult time, that helped me get all of my grandfather's final wishes realized, this final goodbye to both is long overdue: when it's time, it's time.
TSBMR/0003 :: THE ORIGINAL DICK TRACY, No. 4 (Chester Gould, 1945/1991)
Each week, I make a blind pull from Siri's (randomized) choice of one of the 32 alphabetically-organized shortboxes that constitute my comics collection, (re-)read it, talk about it, and, on (or about) Wednesday, post whatever emerges; you can subscribe via RSS, Apple Podcasts, or your preferred podcast delivery system. This week: "plain boiled turnips!" / RIP cow / smurf ice cream…
While I’m still puzzling over Bowie's SUE blasting through the HomePod at 0445, my working theory is that a house mouse scurried over it and turned it on: annoyance that we have another new tenant balanced by relief that they have rather excellent taste in music.
So much of my working times these days are spent figuring out where the voice went: where it's hiding, if it'll ever come back, if it ever existed. Right now, a spirit of experimentation: do I need to balance the timed (TSBMR, newsletter, Attendance Cards, intended Project500) with something of a more open-ended duration? Only if I can accept that "open-ended" doesn't mean "never-ending.”
