May 2020 19


Boosting my post about Pina Newman from last week.

I received a lovely email from someone who knew Pina and read my piece about her.

I don’t want Pina to fall off of my timeline yet. Or from our memory.

You can read my original post from May 10th, 2020 about Pina Newman here.



May 2020 19



Day 6.

Is it the best Black Keys album? No.

But choosing this record today is reminder that we will rock again.

Even when the concert by these two dirty Ohio garage dudes on August 12th at Budweiser Stage that you had tickets for that was keeping you going as a small glimmer of light at the end of the pandemic tunnel was cancelled last week.

We must rock again.

We will find a way to rock again.

Find it within yourself to get up today, and this week, and fucking rock again.



May 2020 18

It’s MFing Cheesecake Time.

_#ontario #famousrecipe

Instagram @henrysperson


May 2020 16



Taking the weekend off from this album thing out of respect for Queen Vickie. Gosh she makes good chips.

However, I’ll never forget being curious about what made a record player ‘turn’. Must have still been in the single digits when I removed the platter from the family turntable to discover a mysterious world of gears and wheels.

And one small rubber belt that I couldn’t quite replace properly.

Took me ages of covert fiddling, under great anxiety, hoping my Mom or Dad wouldn’t walk in to discover that I ‘broke’ it.

But, score one for perseverance and those small half-Asian children’s hands. They’re not just for making modern-day iPhones, y’know.

The best way to figure out how something works? Break it apart and put it back together. A metaphor for life, perhaps.



May 2020 15



File under E for ‘Elon Musk might be right – this could be a Simulation’.

So one Saturday morning a few years ago while playing a Herb Alpert record, I say out loud “Herb Alpert is the shit. We really should get some more Herb Alpert records.”

And with that I take Henry for a dog walk in Parkdale.

We pass a smattering of records haphazardly stacked on the sidewalk.

There are a half dozen Herb Alpert records in it.

Reader, I recount this story not just to pay homage to the genius of the man with the trumpet, but also to remind you that life makes no fucking sense.

Anything can happen. Stay positive. And believe in your ability to manifest a stack of used records.



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