I heard that story, a month ago, about some radio station in Ohio or somewhere proclaiming they’d banned any further airplay of “Baby It’s Cold Outside” due to its supposedly Neanderthal take on #me-too morays. Don’t really like the song that much, but my gut reaction was to organize a marathon podcast featuring every cover of the song I could find. Then a dream came a few nights later, resolving the matter in a different direction. Adapted below… it takes place probably somewhere in the mid 2030s.
How did Atlantis’ Fall, and the prospects of a strange new future civilization to the east, manifest to ones awake near the end?
We don’t remember conversations in full tableau. Instead, glistening moments, a bluesy vignette, a mere phrase filled with undisclosed meaning. They shine like supernovae across our lifespan, persistently prodding us to mine their significance with each new contemplation. Gifts which keep on giving.
Icker’s youthful reportage on how the convent dwellers of his 6th-grade schoolyear approached a certain disciplinary incident in the classroom. (A previous adventure from Icker’s formative years can be found here).
A changing of the guard took place over the summer between 5th and 6th grades: the two chief mover-and-shaker nuns at St. Aloysius had been replaced.
A story about going off the grid — before there was a grid.
By the 4th night things were getting rough. He’d lost everything of importance, save for his wallet, half a week ago hitchhiking down from the north into Munich. Probably in the backseat of that Mercedes.
A young boy experiences the tug-of-war between the heady excitement and level-headed clarity which comes with the quest for knowledge.