My buddy and loyal open mic companion Geoff suspects that I am the first songwriter to incorporate the “uncanny valley” in my lyrics. I don’t know whether that’s true, but I did quite enjoy publicly debuting the song Robots at the Thirsty Soul last Thursday. Also featuring Cloth Mother (first song about experiment on monkeys?) and Humiliation Compost Heap (the boogie woogie).
This piece came to me all at once. Or, more accurately, it is the result of a couple of years of pontification about the zeitgeist. I crafted the beat and the main synth theme during my lunch break; to have waited would have been torture.
The third installment of liner notes for my 2018 album, Syntherference. Featuring In-Fashion Passion (a critique of the oft-abused social media soapbox), and Learn How To Learn (possibly the meaning of life).
Perched on the uncomfortable stool at the corner pub, with several IPAs in my belly, I broke from tradition and ordered a grilled cheese. I had passed up many of their creative (and, at times, difficult to pronounce) weekly gourmet recipes. But “fresh” Vermont White Ceddar and mushroom on sour dough was irresistible to my beer-addled hypothalamus.
It was delicious; and, on an admittedly rare occasion during which I was strategizing about work (specifically, how to remind coworkers of my existence after my recent move to the isolated second floor), I ordered six more that I would share with my fellow employees the next day.
After some haggling (and mild discouragement via my wife), a logistical discussion ensued. The chef could not fathom my serving his creation after it sat in the refrigerator over night. And so, I agreed that he would partially cook the sandwiches, and I would prepare them in a toaster oven the next day (per his instructions), with a delicately generous discount.
After waking up too early, I remembered: My office has no toaster oven.